My Father, You have said, "Do not give up.
Do not get tired of doing what is right,"
and urged, "Do not surrender to fear's might."
I'm both: afraid and weary of this cup.
Existence wearies me: the sure slip up;
the trying, trying failure to do right;
that always hunger after moral height
when I am just a dust and spit hiccup.
Both life and poems ought to sing of love.
Abomination, sonnets to despair!
Man cannot live by words that are his own.
So Father, give these thoughts of mine a shove,
this earthen jar in kindness now repair,
and fill my form with beauty from Your throne.
Wow. Besides the ideas being true and challenging, the word plays are fascinating!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dr. Impson! It was one of those poems that kind of just fell into place. I think God took pity on me in my attempt at soul talk.
DeleteYes, what Dr Impson said! Especially deft, your use of the two meanings of "trying" -- we try to do right, and our failures are trying!
ReplyDeleteThank you, dylan. I think I like the last line best--where "form" means both the poetic form of the poem and my form, myself.
Delete