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An Imperfect Life

poetry by Fr. Harold Macdonald

The Series

The fall

Beneath the cross's weight again You fall

You saw creation, now face down in dirt.

Wood's weight upon your back is not at all

the greatest load You carry; 'tis the hurt

of love unearned bestowed  and not returned;

the stubborn ones who will not light the dark

the jealous, who's pet dreams, they feel, are spurned,

or those, mistook, who's life work missed the mark.

They cannot bear to watch You stumble down

lest their own failures they recall, relive

and not in tears  but in self pity, drown.

Self love is not the bane of our endeavour

But hatred of the self, a curse forever.