Early Sonnets
1His grace and love are as the boundless sky:
From North to South, from East to West, endless
And still we sinned, He sent His son to die.
We sinned, and still, He loved us more, not less.
As Savior, God sent His begotten son,
Into a world, within the Romans' rule,
To give Jews freedom from the Evil One,
But they rejected him, as if a fool.
Betrayed, crucified, mocked, burried, doubted, dead,
Then three days later he arose, alive!
Now all one need do is but bow his head,
And God, his soul, will instantly revive!
God showed us mercy, grace, redemption, joy--
All through His son, His perfect baby boy.
2
As I alone in dark despair do lie,
Through sleepless night await the dawn of morn,
No comfort comes in dread thoughts passing by,
And blackest brooding leaves me tired and worn.
With sleep a distant thought I rise from bed,
And start to pace a path across the floor,
I think life may be easier when dead,
And thinking this I head sraight to the door.
I envy you who left me to this life,
I'm haunted by your memory so dear,
And all alone I face this constant strife,
Just wishing you were there to draw me near.
But finally I do return to rest,
And dream of you holding me to your chest.
3
A mask which hid my dark and sullied past,
Now hides the present, darker me tenfold.
While I deprive my soul in Godless fast,
I sell it not to demons or for gold.
Then what obsession leads me to this state
of blood-filled, smoke-filled, lust-filled life?
Not that I love, but rather wholly hate,
And hating, love, for all I know is strife.
Yet I once hoped for God and thus for rest,
This speck of peace I think in me doth grow.
How specks or hopes will guide my earthly quest,
I will not live to speak on this or know.
For chains of drakness finite to me seem,
If God forgiv'n his impure child doth deem.
4
O, how shouldst men conduct themselves to bear
Defeat and shame, when wounds o're them are spread?
Yea, show me, Thou who once wast slain, though ne'er
A charge wast found for what Thou didst or said.
When mocking crowds iunsult my humbled state,
Or anger-driven words at me are hurled,
My nature is, in turn, to grow irate,
Allowing foolish pride to be unfurled.
In desperate hast I cast my soul on Thee
For grace found only at Thy mercy seat.
Thy Word dost come to me and now I see,
As I upon my knees, my God, entreat!
"A gentle word canst anger drive away,
And prudence crown thy thoughts and tongue each day."
posted by Trisha @ 10:17 PM
