(x = space)
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Lathes and Crucibles
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What shall we say to God
Between sabbath times
Or other times of prayer
Or times when none of us
Are praying?
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Shall we say
We’re rather tired, rather
Busy, rather occupied with
Real things—money and
Mortgages and relationships
(and these are real)?
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When God asks us, in
Turn, what have you for me?
Knowing he does not mean
Money or mortgages
Or relationships (not their
numbers, certainly),
What shall we say?
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But we were busy
But we meant to,
Well, you know
You know, you know the
World—so why bother us?
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Can we not put a peg
In salvation? Can we not
Reserve a space for the
Apocalypse? A room when
We hear you have
So many rooms?
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This might tear grace apart
Hope might cry
Salvation might be small,
Smaller in number
Than was planned
The mansion empty
With all our watches
At the door,
Just outside
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Why do we believe in God?
I asked my mother
Because people are afraid
Of going to hell,
She said
And there’s wisdom there,
Pragmatic
Though she had better faith,
I know
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Faith is not for empty wings
But for a heart and mind
And soul
To fly
The rituals won’t answer
When the angels (solid beings
rife with wings)
As on behalf of God
To bar the way with
Flaming swords
And molten tears, weeping
For God’s way
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The narrow way
That wasn’t meant to be
But for our refusal
Widened the other
Set fenceposts of denial,
Left out arrows
Of deception,
Tour guides with toothy
Grins
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Metanoia
Turning as in
Repentance
Paint the other way
(a pun in English)
We have time
For the sake of miracles
And grace,
There might be seconds
For the future
What you are going to do,
Do it now
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C L Couch
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(goodness, this is grim—but so is the news today)
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By H005 – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8384955
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