Wednesday, April 16, 2014


Not I.
Not, cannot,
I cannot be good.
Be nor do,
Cannot do good,
Nor try,
Try good.
Not try, nor want, nor even see to know.
I cannot love nor live,
Give nor bless I cannot.
I cannot pray
Nor say
Nor sing
Nor ring the rounding bell
Nor tell
Nor teach
Nor preach, prophesy or praise.
I cannot add one moment to my days
I cannot lift up my gaze, my eyes,
Nor know the skies,
Nor even the mud that makes my form
Nor warm my heart
Nor finish any good work, nor even start.
I cannot
For I all but am not.
Am nought, What?
I am not aught but… what?
At my center a gap, an emptiness.
An abyss, a nothingness
An utter lack, a longing, a space
A place, an empty womb or tomb wherein I miss.
Miss whom?
Miss Thee, as Thou hast created me to.
My emptiness fancies itself a thing,
Tries to give, to live, to be, anything
But I cannot
For I all but am not.
Am unfilled, longing
(With strong longing, Thine,
All Thine, not mine) to be filled
Full, fulfilled, filled full well
As Thou hast willed,
Emptied so as to be filled,
Spilled out so as to be overflowed
And spilled ad majorem
Dei gloriam, filled and spilled and filled for aye,
All, ever, saecula saeculorum! I
Give up, and offer Thee nothing.
Fillest and killest though my nought, with Thy I AM.

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