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That Very Hour
by Robert Barra 
11/26/12
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I can feel you waiting here
   deep inside my heart.
A face of hate, a voice that jeers,
   tears my soul apart.

I desire without want;
   I know it's far from love.
My soul is dry, my spirit gaunt;
   my face is turned from above.

We cannot get dark from light;
   no sweet from the sour.
What you did sapped my might;
   I died that very hour.

I cannot see you with me,
   like water with the oil.
There's no love I can see;
   no seed for the soil.

And yet I want, not good for me;
   you have the face of death.
I must make to God my plea,
   "Grant me holy breath!"

© Bob Barra, 11-21-2012

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