When I discovered I am full of death,
I took it as the most horrific shock,
for I had felt my goodness had a depth
that kept that out, impenetrable rock.
And yet I found that I am full of rot,
so I could not regard myself as good,
so full of death my feeling and my thought,
for reasons that I hadn’t understood.
But being full of death has drilled in me
that on my sullied self I can’t depend,
for You, Love, give all life, and I can see,
without You, I’m a creature bound to end.
O, Christ, I know that I am full of death.
For any life in me, I’m in your debt.
Mario A. Pita