Book of Praises: Psalm

The Lord is my surgeon;
I will never lack scars.

He ties me down to the gurney;
he leads me down quiet hallways.

He divides my soul, and threads
righteousness into my flesh
like a holy doctor.

Even though I walk
through dreams of torture,
I fear no sharpness:
you have already cut.
Your scalpel and saw,
they terrify me.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies:
You anoint my head with alcohol –
my blood bubbles from the incision.

Surely the surgeon will follow me
all the days of my life;
I will know the inside of this hospital:
you will teach me to love.

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