There are those who, for <br />the deepest reasons even they forget, <br /> <br />offer themselves upon the altar <br />of the three afflictions: <br /> <br />body, mind and heart: suffer <br />everything that they can find; <br /> <br />and strangely, yet we love them; <br />do what we can; fail; sigh; <br /> <br />and start afresh – as they, <br />bruised, self-tortured, in that cause <br /> <br />which we can only hope one day <br />that they themselves – if they survive – <br /> <br />may realise in a burst of glory: <br />long-awaited, pent-up glory: <br /> <br />dissolve, surrender with a relief <br />as great as friendship, as the human race, <br /> <br />into the love we always had for them <br />which is as nothing, to the love <br /> <br />which they at last discover that they have <br />for their immortal self. Yes, how much we love them <br /> <br />beyond all reason; seeing ourselves in them; <br />loving love; as ever love calls us to do.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/belov-d-victims-of-themself/
