this bro-ken frame

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a  
contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise. Psalm 51:17  
 

what will You have me do this day
       while in his course the sun
           illuminates tasks in my way
                  neglected and undone?
though stubborn raves my lack of care
       and silent falls my voice
           today You bid me live and dare
                  by purpose and by choice.

           the breath i borrow for my life
                  so fleeting in its wake
                      cannot withstand the slightest strife
                          that circumstances make;
           yet how i flaunt its delicate
                  composure every night
                      presumptuous to anticipate
                          the next day's glorious light!

                  my hands have woven selfish plots
                      my feet have trod the path
                          where spills the blood until it clots
                                 in pools of kindled wrath.
                  my heart has fashioned grudge and greed
                      and jealousy and hate
                          e'en now i choke upon their seed
                                 without a surrogate.

                      how will You use this broken frame
                          direct this dying breath?
                                 can You revive me just the same
                                     though close i am to death?
                      what can You fashion out of shame
                          from one so piteous?
                                 give me this day faith’s counterclaim  
                                     from death so hideous.  
 
© Copyright 2021 February 21  
by Clyve A. Bowen♫