Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them.
ALL things, Father, are possible for thee
if possible, let this cup then pass from me
nevertheless, not my, but thy will be done
let it be finished, what thou has begun
before the trees from they Creation sprang
when all the morning stars together sang
when I was before thee, daily, thy delight
when together we fashioned the day and night
like carpenters, we twain the heavens hewed
and the firmament our handiwork shewed
as joiners we composed the waters high
and the waters below to reflect the sky
and now, alone, in Gethsemane
I bow my head and raise my thoughts to thee