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♫