Poetry

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What am I, God, that thou wouldst think ‘pon me
That thou wouldst take the basest clay
And mold and meld ‘pon thy potter’s wheel
To form and shape from thy artisan’s eye
That which might give pleasure unto Thee
‘Tis a mystery beyond the unfathomable reaches

To take such a mortal coil scraped from the stuff of dust
And then, in a gesture absurd in its incarnation
Thou wouldst deign to breathe ‘pon this barren shape
And thus bestow Thine own glorious Life Unbound
Shakes my reckoning to th’ very foundations
And I tremble to the bone in awe and wonderment

That among the vast endless bounds of this universe
Curtained and veile’d from end to end and fille’d
With the majesty of Thy Handiwork Infinite
That this mote of rock – flotsam in a sable sea of space
Should catch thine eye and bring thy Spirit to ponder,
To consider, to imagine, to design, to -- Create

What, then, could my poor bearing offer in return
For this gift of being, of existence, of Life Glorious
Than to do Thy bidding, Thy will of perfection
That in comparison my humble countenance pales in contrast
Nay, my feeble existence is but a void ‘cept that which
Reflects as ‘twere a mirror up to Thy Handiwork

What is my life, then, except to be a prayer unto Thy Glory
How else shall this too, too wanting of a shell
Naked and shriftless in Thy sight stand before Thy presence
Except that in all my strength, will, bearing and being
That which defines and sustains my very existence
Shall shout to the very spheres in the heavens Thy Holy Majesty

And yet as insufficient as the total of all that may be summed
Within my power to describe, to extol, to venerate
And as much as is Thy due to crown Thy enoble’d brow
For which in my despair I in shame turn aside for lacking
Thou dost with the gentlest of the Graces in Eternal Love
Doth esteem that which hast issue’d from this mere puff of dust

And I stand in the midst of Thy consideration – astonishe’d

--Life Unbound

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