Thursday, September 18, 2008



In folded darkenings and sullen cloud,
amid the wanton damp of discarded rainfall,
there is a chill that hungers for my soul.
When all around fades to monochrome monotony
the blackdog blackguard of misery comes calling
soft-pawed, uncomforting.
I do not bring my God here.
I am unprepared for a gentle touch
nor the warm breath of Spirit
in this melancholy.
Then I glimpse the lifting cloud,
dim-distant brightness between craggy outcrops,
the weight of sodden sky retreating.
Then I remember
You don’t always
await invitation.


Rulan said...

Love the photo. Great poem. Everlasting ever loving ever pursuing, almighty God.

Anonymous said...

This one hits home.

Thanks, Keith.