Perfect

I am clothed in white and yet
I bleed.
I am transfigured yet still
I feel in my side
The sword thrust of
An unkind hand.
The skies darken, yet still 
The sun blazes my mind. 
The father's throne is 
Won and here I stand 
Beside him, divine yet
Not lost is my old self - 
The man.  The wounds 
That graced me for 
My own good and the good 
Of all, I still bear -
My hands are torn, 
My skin and bone all 
Dried and withered, my feet 
Deformed, yet 
Through that ugliness
Am I made
Perfect in his eyes.
I attend him, patiently
Ready to place my gift of pains
Where it belongs:
Within his perfect arms.
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