Poetry

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Way too long my heart's been cold,
   like the beating of stony walls.
My tattered ways left me feeling old,
   in the throes of many falls.

Now my coldness extends outward,
   to those who need it not.
In conviction I fall forward;
   wipe away my blot.

Be the Love that leads my loves;
   even to make them seem like hate.
Make my words like gentle doves,
   with the wisdom of serpents late.

I come to You with the simple faith
   by which I am born above.
Free me from the mocking wraith;
   bind me to You as my First Love.

I remember the joy I once had
   when I heard Your word.
Make me right, make me glad;
   I'll not rest until I'm heard.

Only You can grant repentance
   that I would be as You desire.
Grant me that most gracious sentence;
   bring back that holy fervent fire.

Make me know all Joy and Truth
   when I finally know Your pleasure,
      when my words and deeds are the proof
         of my First Love of endless measure.

© 7-29-2012 

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