In the parlor

In the parlor   

          

These poems I once considered
as knocks upon Your door.
 
Now I see them in a different light –
it’s You Who are outside my house,
 
this poetry mere intimations from You
of where I stand:  in the parlor –
 
isolated, harbored, locked away,
not out of ignorance but by habit and fear. 
 
I’ve built myself a sturdy house
on this whirling, careering planet
 
with a weakness for its safety and comfort,
my presumed authority within its impregnable walls.
 
Now the blessings of this poetry are revealed
to be all the greater – patient, loving entreaties
 
for Your child to abandon his earthly abode
and fly into his Father’s open arms.
 
O child of God, rise from your cowering
to answer His persistent knocks.