After Isaiah 63-64
That the heavens
would be rent,
torn apart,
sundered, as you descended
the mountains,
shaking, the forests
ablaze, the
waters boiling,
the nations
quaking,
this we did not
anticipate.
We shrivel as we
quake,
leaves and
flowers scorched
in the sun,
swept away
by the wind of
violence
Only then do we
become clay,
only then do we
become ready
to be worked by
hands holier
than our own
Amen, Glynn, amen! Every time I read your poems, I stand in awe.
ReplyDeleteBlessings!