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By Peter Venable Dawn Opened the Word, plumbed and plunged into Daniel’s dark revelations. Eons later, Tell us, when will these things be? And what is the sign when all these things will be fulfilled?*, the deeper I fathom “these things,” the clearer they become. Morning At the Apple Festival throngs of souls all shapes, sizes, stages of life: dyed hair, moms and strollers, pig races, sleeve tats, food trucks, blacksmith forging—and all I did was spot specks in others’ eyes beneath the shades of beams nailed to my eyebrows. Dawn’s inspired depths darkened by shallow eyes. Afternoon At the Salem Bach Festival – Choral Sing, Salem Bach Choir enchanted us, – pitch perfect – and we sang hymns, climaxed by “Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying”: “the Bridegroom comes, awake; Your lamps with gladness take . . .” My lamp still cold while trekking through the lot-- how I snuffed His light only a few hours ago. Evening Bedside lamp on. David’s confessional Create in me a clean heart, and renew A right spirit within me;* James’s reproach Does a fountain flow with both clear and brackish water from the same outlet?* both as I douse the light, stare at the dim ceiling. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and contrite heart*-- Such as am I. Better broken than rigid. I am a poor candle, but the light is Thine. *Mark 13:4, Psalm 51:11, James 3:11 The writer has written sacred and secular verse for many decades. He’s appeared in Ancient Paths, Prairie Messenger, The Lyric, The Anglican Theological Review, The Christian Century, The Merton Seasonal and Windhover. His Jesus Through A Poet’s Lens is available at Amazon. He is at petervenable.com and on Facebook.
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