Blessing Place
My breath, my blood, my spirit blent with One
Whilst daybreak woke to brilliant beck'ning sun
Still left my Home, the place where blessings live.
With haste my reckless intellect far-gone;
Without a backward glance I took my leave
And turned breath, blood, and spirit from the One,
I scorned the Hand that lifted to revive,
Set my cold heart as if it were a stone
Yet longed for Holy ground where blessings live.
I fin'lly lost each war I thought I'd won
My heart lie broken, weary and bereaved
With breathless pose, blood spent, and spirit gone.
At last I'd fallen ready to receive
That Grace as bright as on the day I'd flown--
And viewed, with hope the place where blessings live.
When mortal men declare this journey done
Consider not that I was deign to give
My breath, my blood, my spirit bent toward One:
Memorial to this place where blessings live.
posted by ShiningDawn @ 2:59 AM
2 Comments:
This poem is also wonderful, Pamela. Did you just write it? You seem to being going through a time of great creative outpouring.
It has been raining here on and off all day. Hope the dawn brings sunshine, so the birds can get warm again. But after record rainfalls last year, we did need the rain!
love,
lynn
Thank you for the lovely comment, Lynn. This is essentially my first attempt at the complexity of villanelle. I have been blessed abundantly and am grateful for even the tiniest amount of Grace from the One, the Perfection of Love, Harmony and Beauty.
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