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Barefoot upon the stony path
He is told to walk.
Barefoot, though those who walk beside
Have covered feet,
Though they would mock.

In pain he stumbles, while the wrath
Of fiery temptor burns.
In pain, though deep inside
A frenzied heat
So madly churns.

Mirrored in water, the aftermath
Of storms show dirt-stained face.
Mirrored are memories that so deride
His now worn feet,
With glories gone without a trace.

Glories of a smooth, clear path,
He knew so well before.
Glories from which he now must hide:
Their bright conceit
Would blind him more.

What fire is brighter than the wrath
Of temptor's mocking heat?
What fire, blazing at his side
Makes him complete
This torturous feat?

The fire of the morning star.

7th May 2000