That Very Hour
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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