Before the Day

Part one of a three part poem, an early work.

Before the Day


My soul cried out, Lord, am I forgotten?
         Your blessings, great Lord, fill my house.
                   Yet, there is something awry in my life,
But not material things I haven't gotten.
         I search myself, sitting quietly as a mouse,
                   Praying, my soul in pain, pierced by a knife.

Tears escape my downcast blinded eyes,
         Fleeing the tired face from whence they began.
                   My searching ends when finally it is known:
It is a simple thing, for which my soul cries.
         God, I pray for a love these years to span.
                   My desire tugs as new cloth on old sewn.

It is my soul alone, which is lacking.
         That which my heart most wants and desires
                   Perhaps, Father, him You have not made.
This is not a promise in which You’re slacking,
         For patience is needed to quench the fires,
                   And so I clasped my hands and prayed.


Becky