Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Sunday, September 16, 2018

Sonnet #259

The Word of the Lord comes to all of us

If we let the Word settle in to our skins
If we pause and dream of larger things
Than what we want and what we hush
The Word of the Lord will settle in for all
Who bother to clear the path, unlock the door
And stand at time of darkness shouting for
Our sweet Lord, come in from the dark, we call
Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling It
Rise inside the hearth, and once ignited
Tend with logs as needed to this voice lit
To burn the things that burn through our insides
The Word of the Lord belches brimstone
The Word of the Lord crackles truths to bones

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