Psalms of Fire: Heaven Holds A Place For Few

Beginning of a ramble

I once had a profound love, that, I am most certain of. But that can not tarnish the wakes of fate and their offered pain and gifts that leave their trace with unrelenting stain.
Providing eternal differece to each new day, never to turn back and be the same- never to go away.
But for low is the beginning so later I know the distance to rise. A bloodied mess to start, I take to wiping the blood that streams from both eyes.
A penance due: shall I provoke the many whom bear such weakness too? If I spur with loving thorn to side, forward my friend to a life worth living;

shall I know my own means to survive?

Deliver me, oh precious wayward mind, from this arbitration over right and wrong. In the seed that sprouts anew from tempered ground, whilst the fruit be bitter to taste or will it grow to rot?
And what of the soil? Can the roots of blessed action reach between the cracks of the impermeable, take hold and flourish against the hardened curse of settlement. Will it provoke growth of love? Can it even? Or does the old dog whither and die when faced with change no matter the new day?

If so… shall I never know my own means to survive?