You've painted me a cripple;
stolen the virtue of trained limbs,
and given little explanation.
I breathed in the cool of the day;
alive in the innocence of ignorance,
drinking deeply its wonder...
or at least so I believed.
But beyond the flaming gates,
in the land east of Eden,
my heart returned to the dust.
My flesh remembered;
my veins coursed liquid air,
acquired with my adequate lungs.
And there I understood alone.
"To what gain", said the earth.
"To what gain is your walking?
You only move further away from where it is that you're going."
"For what purpose", groaned creation.
"For what purpose is your talking?
You only declare things you have not understood"
But what of my lungs;
are they not strong?
What of these legs;
do they not carry me forward on sinew and bone?
What of these eyes;
can they not perceive the way before me?
There I understood alone.
For all of my going,
I've done my good to the end of Yours.
Blinded in the brilliant light
of the likeness impressing itself,
I lost my way in finding it well.
So paint me the cripple;
You owe me no explanation.
Make me to lie down,
so You might lead me beside.
Restore the soul that surrenders;
restore the soul that has given up.
So that someone beside myself,
so that You,
might rescue me.
Paint me the cripple,
in the garden where walking cease.