Dearest fellow aspirer,
I must confess,
I killed a big brown spider in my sink
while minding his own business.
He didn’t even know my name, or blink.
Then I took a shower
to wash my conscience clean
with sweet-smelling soapy power.
Dried off; dressed
It didn’t work.
Did he deserve to die of ugliness?
When I vowed not to even fork a pork.
How could I have been so vicious?
Guilty, I sat to write about immortality,
my qualifications suspicious.
Immortality is not for spiderstuff
Or for killers; that is true.
But is the arm of God long enough
To rescue a hypocrite or two?
Please don’t laugh or pity me.
Don’t all murderers like sinners do their deed
To avoid being hurt, you see?
Lord, will you leave spiders behind
When we fly up to meet Jesus in the sky
Or will it then be I who ends-up with a molten flooded mind?
Saint Francis would not have killed that little guy.
He was kinder and braver than me.
And could hover in trees
Beloved of lions and tigers was he.
That, my invisible friend,
Is a difference between the true immortal,
And aspiring ones who seek no end
Of life with God and light eternal
Solid purity, especially in the small
So when deep within us He sees
no air pockets for evil to infiltrate and deceive.
May your week be holier than me.
Braver, more merciful,
Hopeful with reason be,
Loving all species,
Hateful of sin
Your sister in Christ,