Posted by: duncandrews | May 16, 2013

Out of the storm: a short poem

Job 38-41

Ah! Infinite starburst, searing light,
heat white hot, your flaming handsIMG_1098
smallest twitch and lightning is put to flight,
a cord to bind Orion where he stands.

In terror my ashen eyes have now seen
what before my ears had only heard,
and I am consumed, repentant, husk obscene.

And yet, to me you speak a word.

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