penetration into the absolute essence
where there is, and can be, no end.

You illude my life with Angels.
I know they exist but nay, no I hath not seen one.
Oh lord you can make this sinner a saint.

Why did you start me but run out of paint?
Am I then a sketch, of will which remains unfinished?
You mold me and make me what I am; of your clay…
Do not allow stagmentation; shape my life everyday…

Mend my spirit to do your will…
As you tarry - I pray for her still…
-jaaron anderson 8.11.1997