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Tenebrae

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He was so tired that he was scarcely able to hear a note of the songs: he felt imprisoned in a cold region where his brain was numb and his spirit was isolated.

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Requite this angel whose
flushed and thirsting face
stoops to the sacrifice
out of which it arose.
This is the lord Eros
of grief who pities

no one; it is
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Stephen Loomes 09 September 2013

The candles are lit, and then slowly extinguished. The fire projects from within as does the disappointment. We carry out our own crucifixion.

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