a poem by John F. Deane
Unholy we sang this morning, and prayed
as if we were not broken, crooked
the Christ-figure hung, splayed
on bloodied beams above us;
devious God, dweller in shadows,
mercy on us;
immortal, cross-shattered Christ--
your gentling grace down upon us.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment