Why are these seven so special?
Why do they carry with them more death than others?
What’s to say they are the sin?
And not the symptom of a sovereignty,
That is not within our control?

Oh, how I wish it were that simple
To somehow simply avoid the seven
But even now
In the cooling darkness
I find envy biting at me
Like the bugs descending
And resting on my flesh

I consider it probable
That friends and enemies alike accept
Even believe
In a sanctity beyond
A broken recognition of need
And the terrible speed of mercy

And I’m caught aren’t I?

Then again what is envy?
If not merely a form of the desire,
That is formed by what we see in another?
And how do we know what we want?
Or who we want to be?
Without seeing it first in those,
That settle into this same evening with us?
After we’ve laughed and played
And ate together
And shared knowing glances
Filled with admiration and delight
And when we are weak
Or perhaps human
The pangs of envy and resentment

And of course we are pained to realize
That we can not posses what we see
Nor can we possess those that radiate it
Though we sometimes wish to hold them tight
And be held with an equal intensity

Envy rears its head
But is it sin?
Or a gift?
That is part of the terrible speed of mercy
That must find us undone,
From the hard work of learning to love,
Ourselves even in the fading summer light,
Of another

© 2007 Tad Monroe. This poem may not be reprinted without permission from the author.

Tad Monroe
a portly pastor poet in Tacoma, Washington
co-founder and director of City of Destiny Faith and Film series
takes comfort in the fact that The Dude abides...
12 year old scotch or PBR, both acceptable and enjoyable