Wisdom from a Gnostic Sage
Tag: disease
A cherub pressed me to my knees:
He held a flaming spear.
He struck again, and then again:
As much as I could bear.
I soon abandoned all desire
For this sweet pain to cease.
No other bliss compares to this
Felicitous disease.
I greet this torment willingly.
I fondly hug the wound.
Love’s quarry, breathless, flees no more,
For she is run to ground.
Since Adam delved and Eva span
Man’s waywardness has spoiled God’s plan.
Disease and death here level all;
Our winding-sheet conceals a Fall.
Though God could make a bush to speak,
A dumb child tells us who is weak:
Though He made His dead Son to eat,
Yet feeding some would be a feat,
For they can neither dig nor spin,
And day by day their limbs grow thin.
Such is the consequence of sin.
Phillip Medhurst