Damn you, Flesh!
It is you who condemns me to the eternal fires of guilt;
standing mockingly triumphant over duty!
I lacerate, cleanse, and even disown you!
Still, at every turn you revenge with impulse
to torture my serenity!

How can I rid myself of you, damnable flesh,
when your every whim, wish, desire, and breath
courses through my veins, a misery like oxygen?
How much blood must I let to abolish your presence,
yet salvage my personage!?

I do say, I must be in debt, this flesh will not let me forget
those shackles on my wings that do prevent my ascent!
Oh, yes! That very flesh works like poison-
killing me with luxury and glee. Making me old, fat, and weak.

Too weak as so to tire me easily and whisk my force and zeal away from me.
Without them, I am left only to look over my soul's seal in reflection,
through those tiny windows, locked away high inside the glass towers that are
my eyes. Where a rent tear is the only evidence of my locked away existence....

Where is the relief? Where is the forgiveness? Where is the strength?
Where is He, the Holy one to part this obstacle, like he did the Red Sea?

If they could be freed then, surely I might be saved.
But, until then, I languish in adipose chancery.