My inheritance is incorruptible
but I am not, I am fickle and
strange yet commonplace, for every
day use but infrequent honor
The residue of purpose
sticks like a brand or sewn patch
it marks me: my own disgrace and your glory
I wear it firmly yet not well
It does not rest on my shoulders like Elijah's mantle,
the burden, label is meant for me
but the yoke chafes from pulling instead of following
The accuser is talking about me again
Oh please don't listen.
I will perform whatever task my shape requires,
just call me yours, just hold me close,
close so I can hide my face and you can sing over me.
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