Extraordinary forms

Extraordinary forms                                                                           
 
So many masters in the world promising heaven. 
I belong to the One Who declared Himself
          free from all promises!
 
I’m in exile; down to the bitter dregs.
Now, You say, the real work begins.
 
I’m nostalgic for that moonlit garden;
the fragrance of Your sanctuary . . . .
 
But the artist, You say, sculpts in a studio
far from the garden’s pedestal.
 
No slaughterhouse in a field of lilies,
nor butcher’s table beneath the pergola.
 
Love takes extraordinary forms --
disillusionment, grief, chaos, despair.
 
Not for the weak, nor the faint-hearted.
There’s ample evidence of that!
 
O child of God, the One Who seems so far away,
is at your elbow, sword in hand. 

(photo by Bob Aherns)