wonder

the devil serves up a heady brew.
a couple of swigs and i’ve ‘thought it through.’
my eyes dim, i’m losing my cool;
the lines begin to blur – between false and true.

and in a while i wake up, hungover with rue.

i sobered up, with tears blue and a wounded heart.
i asked the lord if i may understand in time due:
my many miseries, both old and new,
the locusts’ years, and how they played their part.

and thus i prayed for the lord to chasten me;
when i am impudent to discipline me.
for though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak,
and i, your child, am anything but meek.

so, father i pray for you to lay me low,
when i return to the old to rebuke me so.
hide me away whence the strong winds blow,
i plead to you, the shepherd of my soul.

life is fleeting, life is short,
but in you my soul found a place to hide.
whether in deed, in word, or in thought,
i pray thy grace in me abide.

 —

Q

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