Friday, April 6, 2012

A poem I wrote four years ago

This Cup

Forcing myself, Never Good. Enough.
“Save!”  atonement “Come.”
All I have been screams for dear life,
  for everything I grasped, that is not life.
The Savior continues to quietly beckon.
This boldfaced acceptance of my death--
Gulp down the pain, remembering His. . .
Dying. Drink. -(poison) A reckless release
to unseen hope (medicine)- Finding. Life.
--is a risk that I cannot afford not to take.
“No more my will,  but what You will.”
All this, that I may imbibe of the new
marriage covenant, a regular sacrifice;
slammed with intensely bitter waves
tossed upon the richly sweet fluid.
As I accept the momentous cup
from Your bleeding hand
that took it first
and filled it,
I want
the faith
to not
but quaff the full;
To partake of all of You. 

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