Forgiveness as Sacrilege

All of the rejected things want me to assemble them. Scattered appendages shaken off by an efficient hope have crawl in disorientation. And now they desire a restricted corner and a banner under which to make procession. Put us together however you see fit, only make us answerable to a resonance that will not ask more of what our constitution allows. These terrible wings are at your service. They may deliver parcel or air strikes. Versatility is the mark of all exiles. The jaundiced eye can go before you, or be mounted upon stone to make it an inquisitor. What of these arthritic fingers? Though you can not model them, they do scratch and collect payment. Some will enter into your future encampment short of stature. Make them to pass before the mighty ones. They do not arouse threat, nor do they awaken suspicion. The symphony of discordant pleas is an assault upon my ears as sheep bleating for want of a shepherd. Make us a sun opposite the one that lights the countenance of our deposers. Give us a moon that forbids tides. We were washed away; taken from our place to be made cautionary tales by the most austere copyists. Their inked quills do not record once. They proliferate one misstep into choreography. Seven generations past an infraction will a people grit their teeth at a tombstone made alive once more by wicked parchment. Since we can not be released from the public imagination on terms aggregable to the faintest stitch of dignity, make us a name that shivers the spine and chatters the teeth. We were created from the same substance as the shining ones, but were reduced by tragic flaw. Some of us can not stand up for more than three minutes at a time. Others have taken oaths that were meant for arch angels. Now they must carry the folly like a prayer rug everywhere they go. Anyone would be crushed by the weight of it, yet because of miscalculation, there is no reprieve of judgement. Some have even turned magie in the desperate attempt to reverse their state of execration. They only dung trees of the beloved. I will make them into one man. Neither will contrition affect my person. My gift to the toothless is a bite force above cocktailian aggression. A veil of silk for disfigurement. Every throat parched of clemency will have a well to the right and left of him. Go and tell them that I thread my needle with mercy. Fetch the indigent, the recluse, the diminutive, the speckled, and all reviled of the earth. I shall knit you into everlasting impunity. You will be elastic against all charges of villainy. The morose will no longer suffer under the therapeutic spell of wordsmiths. We will move into and through all that is called acceptable. None will make us to be afraid ever again.