The ancient discrepancy
The sun rises, it seems, from the heart
spilling onto a sky bright sails of hope,
invariably to founder upon the day’s living reefs;
tired old bindings to be sure, but ever-new tendrils
and the spellbound inertia, the snug-enough shroud.
Evident in the distance between
lightning’s flare and the thunder’s roar,
the ancient discrepancy,
as I hurtle toward yet another failure –
everyday and the lifetime, the ages-old –
the slowly-becoming awareness of how
thoroughly deep go the erected barricades,
an integral part, alas, of the structure itself.
The sun rising every morning from the heart
to shine upon my impotence and light
beyond me the fair, faraway face of my Savior.
O child of God, hopelessness in the New Life
has nothing to do with failure or despair.