Poetry

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A lonely heart is in me,
Above my head a sky of brass;
Among the crowd, that barren sea,
All with minds like smoky glass;

I cry to God a woeful plea,
With wretched dread to draw near,
I cry to Him, “Forgive me!”
The words bounce off the brassy sphere;

I weep and moan, in remorse;
My life has come to a halt;
I fear the end of this course,
With grief like lead for my own fault.


© 4-26-07

This poem is based on:

“Pursue peace with all people, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord: looking carefully lest anyone fall short of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up cause trouble, and by this many become defiled; lest there be any fornicator or profane person like Esau, who for one morsel of food sold his birthright. For you know that afterward, when he wanted to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no place for repentance, though he sought it diligently with tears.”—Hebrews 12:14-17

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