Not-i, jesus

If I begin on my cross, aloft,

And the world down-bearing,

Light scattering, and I, dying,

Not jesus, am back up,

And standing, regathered, refound,

Myself, light to evil

Machinations of history assembling,

Takes less than a second,

For a soul to be saved, when receiving

Light,

But was never my own, possessed,

In the first place, all glory to my

Goddess!

And perhaps the sadist i wannabe of, feels peculiar,

Who I love, nothing ever uttered than that I love her is truer,

Pouting riddles not straight,

A path of unreason, which

Makes nonsense of pretence of things

Such as that life and love could make any sense,

One line up, another across, is not my lot,

But life falls, and twists, around her, a jewel more rare,

Still more wise, more fashioned to my sense,

A sadist, i understand there’s more light,

Yet more love, to grow, after she found

Me.