A Man of sorrows… What does that mean? One that knows the universe… What does He see?
How do I encapsulate it, How do I tell? Of hands that crucified, Hands that shape Hell.
Self-absorbed conclusions. Erroneous delusions. What cause have I? I see that, I know that, yet I… Well I can’t help it, I simply, I… But who is I? Do I really know I? How then should I know thy? But then thy is thou will, was and art. Indeed You are what makes of I a start. So why would You not, know us more than we… Why would You not, Be that which sets free.
What worth have we? What goodness is of Hell? Surely if not of thou then how? Truly, we have nothing of to sell.
Those who are not. Not what? Better, of what? Of bitterness and scorn, Not blind ambition, but self admitting collusion. A deception of self, for the betterment of health An apt frame for a consenting intrusion.
We must know it, We must see, That man cannot Do what God has always been.
Yet.
Sorrow of man… How does He see? Knowing the universe… Yet Loving us complete.