In Fear
L
Leo Yankevich
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Something's at it again
in the hollow of my heart,
black
as the crow
of sorrow.
And once again:
the stillness
of the Lord
mid His holy
impending shadow,
festers in the wound
of a captured word.
Abba,
humble my ache,
if you can,
before my hunger
steals another hymn
from Eden's tree,
or Jesu's bleeding hand.
With half a wing,
I am but breath and sin
caged in this boon
the joyful savants
call life.
Trembling,
I place it before you
like a rune—
wrought from strife.
Bu şiiri puanla
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