A personal poem with a vein of frustration running through it…
In the dismal depths of my subfuscous soul,
Where sin and guilt couple in sordid embrace,
Where darkness shrouds what little light admits,
And there seems no graft for salvific grace:
Will I ever trust that love is going to win?
Will I ever sever my fascination with sin?
In the reality of my living, lived, life story,
Where potential talents remain… just that,
And pathetic ‘forgive me’s fade to nothing,
And purpose of amendment is poor caveat:
Will I ever be what He would have me be?
Will I ever own the sureness of His victory?
Will I achieve the prodigal’s resolution:
‘I will rise and go… to my father’s house!’
Is my problem that I’m a respectable sinner;
More good intentioned than nasty louse?
Will I ever believe the Gospel’s clear logic?
Will advancing years spawn a senior panic?
How many more opportunities to be missed?
Will another kairos come and as surely go?
That succession of moments come to an end?
Carpe diem, something I never get to know?
Will I ever recognise my frail mortality?
Will I ever see that now rules eternity?
If You cannot take my heart by storm O Lord,
When O when will I ever let Your Spirit in?
Is this the ‘narrow gate’ that few ever find,
Here close by my side, yet obscured by sin?
Will I ever sense that for me time is running out?
And heaven’s gate lies open, yet I skulk without?