I fight.
My shield carries the emblem of the cross
yet how often do I slumber on my watch.
I charge into battle and then
I bare my own chest for the sword.
I want the touch of its cold steel.
I swallow it whole
Savoring
Only after do I feel the hot blood
bubble around the wound.
Only now do I realize
that I have loved the taste of death.
O, that I remember the shameful sorrow of this truth when temptation next attacks!
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