Foliage dense on mountainsides
And wild’fires burn
Thicket heaves a smoky breath
Monsoons drown the afternoon.
The world is alive.
Rapt and ravenous,
Passionate the elements and
Susceptible to pride.
Does God not tire in rescuing us from our God-given nature?
My soul is his sword
Glinting in the flame of the eye
Of the one struck down.
I am proved but who considers the blows I’ve delivered?
When corrected, purified,
Beauty consumes away like a moth,
Burned by the light.
Who knows the secret of the heart? Who has gone away to find it?
I wait for one to return…
But an eagle lay dead upon the ground
So is as man in honor but without understanding.
He is blessed whom God beckons,
He sees nothing but God;
The earth and all its inhabitants:
The precision of summer lightning
Splitting the core of the single spruce
Melted flesh bearing up vaulted pillars
The kingdom of God is at hand.
I see mercy and it is far above the skies.
Only you know how to let us hear,
Only you know how tears sown in the ground are brought up as joy,
Only you have delivered my soul from the depths of the most glorified hell.
The one who weeps bears the most precious seed.
©2017, Amaya Engleking