R. Blessed Are The Meek
No matter how I change it is always the same with me. I want what is not. I desire that which cannot be. My grief weighs me down like a well-worn saddle. I take comfort in the constancy of my distress. How much more should I bear? The rejection of my protest makes me think my plight is not in vain. DEAF EARS O LORD! Is that the only image that will listen to my pleas? I thought you were there for us. Yet I know my pain is not even a fraction of your own.