Tuesday, August 5, 2014


You trammel me, O Lord, you hem me in.
Your grace surrounds, confounds, prevents everywhere
Inescapable. Ever present utter care
Abounds all the more around my sin,
Even which rebounds, resounds within,
Redounds unto your glory. As well the air
As grace I might escape; as your unfair
Ubiquitous immanence in all that is. You win.
For you have seiged me round with bread and beer
And tumbled upon my head (with only my shelf
To blame). You tripped and caused to slip from under
Me my plant-foot foolish, mulish heels; my fear
And bristling, brawny, barreled back; my self.
Let fly your locust cloud creation. I surrender.

No comments:

Post a Comment