How I shiver, tremor, ache
As crumpled paper, here I lie
Balled and crushed by some mistake:
The folded plane that could not fly
Ill again am I.
These bouts predate
My conscious choices
From wee, broken state
Come I, but the voices
Of wrung-out being accuse:
These frailties exist as punishments alike-
Penalties for all I cannot be-
But how unlike Him to strike
The confused and weak, with infirmity
They cannot understand
When He forgives the ones
who err in ignorance.
viewingcamelot 
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