Lord, forgive our hedonistic minds,
filled with scraps of self-importance,
pursuing that which is temporal, in time.
Notwithstanding the feelings that shout
through the chaos of fog and sand,
the shifting deities we tend to think about.
The hole gaping expansively deep,
every article thrown in to fill it up
falls through, and resists collecting as a heep.
As only eternal things catch and hold,
becoming solid as they fill the space;
illuminating and restoring; a richness
better than gold and full of grace.
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