Quake

The beauty of a blog . . . or maybe it is the beauty of getting older . . . is feeling free to post what I write and taking the chance of it being really awful when I hope it is really wonderful.  My solace lies in the fact that my writing--whether awful or wonderful or simply mediocre--is, at least, honest.  

Earlier this month an earthquake metaphor came to mind.  I began writing a poem which started rhyming all by itself, so I continued to rhyme it, and this was the result.

 

Shame shakes,

Rattles and breaks

Sin-sick self to very core.

Supports shift,

Slide and drift,

Move to rifts from molten ore.

Broken self—

The former shelf—

Cracks until it cries no more.

After-quakes

Make bloody lakes

That rise within, a silent roar.

Bitterness builds

Foments and melds

A killing brew, a bubbling gore.

Who can take

All our mistakes,

The evil oozing from every pore?

Jesus died,

Was crucified,

And rose to defeat old Satan’s lore.

Now sin’s quakes

And old self breaks

Can, redeemed, to Heaven soar.