My Jesus, welcome--please come in this place.
The well-barred gate's no obstacle; You see
this subterranean damp secrecy.
My hope is for a far descent of grace.
You know the tear tracks down, the salt dried trace
of ancient sadness--well, it seems to me,
within my fly-flick life, that old and deep.
You taste the scent of fears I fear to face.
It's stupefying--worries me--seems sin,
almost, to think Creator'd come this close.
Most High, please tell me, can You really be
a sure soul caver, rescuer within
the depths, a paramedic, God grown close
and small enough to enter here with me?
Lovely! In line 4, do you mean "descent"? I love the imagery of this sonnet, and the softness of the sounds.
ReplyDeleteOh, goodness! Yes, I meant "descent"! Thanks for catching that--and for seeing around it :P
ReplyDeleteThis is one I should have waited a day to publish. Looking over it again, I realized I left out a line necessary for the sonnet scheme. Oh, well . . .
ReplyDelete