The ancient discrepancy

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 barriers,
 
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.