The Cry of the Holy Sparks

From the beauty of the creature
From the longings of the flesh
From the depths of desire
From the murkiness of lust;
Sparks of Your fire
Strewn there
By the pound
Of Your creation-hammer
Called to him;
From the gloom of the abyss
To him signalled, flickered,
Pearls of Your light
There scattered.

Captives of darkness
Blackened of form
Mired in filth
Wallowing in bile
They cried out to him
To descend to them
To draw them from the pit
Raise them from squalor
Cleanse them of dirt
To purify, to refine,
To restore them
And set them as before
In Your crown.

And yet
When he descended the depths
To redeem Your imprisoned
And Your exiled to restore
His soul betrayed;
Led astray
By the flashes of Your glow
Dispersed
In the darkness of earth
Lured
By the flickers of Your light
Lost
In the twilight of the dust

And it was enticed
To consort with them
In their land of exile
To be enamored by them
And cleave to them.

For the soul of man
Fell in love
With the gleam of the husk
The fat of the land
The beauty of the material
The infatuations of the flesh;
It was pleasing to it
Under the slavery of desire
In the chains of lust

For the song
Of earthly pleasures
Drowned the cry
Of Your forlorn
Calling to him
From the pit of their captivity.