I remember being planted
in the soft Earth.
It was warm there,
comfortably dark.
I slept for ages --
though an aching tension
grew within me.
Soon the changes came
that would change me forever.
I grew, and sprouted,
yielding what I had
to offer life.
These grains were taken
and ground into fine dust
as if having no value at all.
I was astonished the Miller
would treat me so.
Did he not perceive my beauty?
Then this dust,
the fruits of my time on Earth,
were placed in a fire and burnt;
mixed with water and kneaded.
I was twice baptized
then pounded and shaped
and pounded again.
I asked the Baker:
"Why heap your indignites upon me?
First the Miller and now you,
what ever happened to my dear friend,
the Farmer?
Why did he release me
to such misery?"
As if not enough, the Baker
took me to the oven
and showed me the awful beauties of flame.
I was scorched and hardened;
my doughy crust became like stone.
At the same time I puffed up.
My skin was tanned.
I became like a proud soldier --
though burning in a fire
and begging for escape.
Will no one treat me well?
At last I emerged,
and was whisked away
to the table of Bounty.
I saw many fruits there,
many delicate wines,
but they all compared themselves to me,
each asserting its superiority.
Then the Host plunged his sword
into my back
and cleaved me in twain.
I was cut and cut,
not bleeding, but sighing out steam.
Even this One did not cherish me!
At the instant of my final despair
when I thought I could bear no more
this Host led me to His lips
and bestowed on me
His fatal kiss.
I passed into His mouth
and was ground up -- again --
between His mighty teeth.
I traveled down the throat
and landed
in a lake of searing acid.
My life has been pain after pain!
an unending torment --
every moment of peace
concluded by a new anguish.
In that dark and foul place,
as the liquids ate my bowels,
I contemplated the injustices of life.
I thought long and hard,
even though my mind was fading...
When there was almost nothing left
I bade the world goodbye
and plunged into my death.
This has been the tale of my death;
but of the life that came after
I can say nothing.
Look to the face of my Beloved:
In the health of His ruddy glow
perhaps you can discern me.
