NeverRealms

 The rough linen and wool warmed his frail, pallid body as he lay stretched out on the makeshift bed in his little church. His eyes, which he kept close, were burning and swollen. Blood still seeped from his open wounds. It was late in the autumn afternoon, leaves falling from the trees in their spectacular array of colors. They were crimson, orange, and saffron like the fine clothes that gay daughters of nobility wore when the summery days had been warm and sweet. Snow would soon fill the valley, and the mountains already wore their white caps of winter. His donkey stood at the foot of the bed, and his dearest friend knelt at his side. He co

Beata Maria, you know I am a pious man Of my devotion I am often told. Beata Maria, poverty, obedience, chastity These three virtues I happily uphold Then tell me, Maria, Why I weep both night and day Why my penance gives me no reprieve I pray and I suffer And still my tarnish soul's the thing That keeps to make me grieve Like fire, hellfire, This pining in my heart This yearning, this burning Is tearing me apart What should I do? Who should I blame? It is my fault alone I've always nursed this flame Oh save me please, offer your hand Did not your holy son Heal the pain of a man? God save me, Maria, Purify my heart of vic