As June rain bubbles on my window now
So too the ruminations of a fleeing spring
Bring me to the glass, to see myself
As some reflection, grown old and wise with time.
I am not as prone as yesterday to heat and zealous froth
And the absolutes that some dare speak as truths
I know now to be more subtle shades of gray.
I have made my peace with God, as I understand Him
He has, in turn, sent me angels to repair
And I, appointed blacksmith
Have labored at the pit
Forging iron that helps the broken rise again

I regret some of what I've done;
Curse myself for trespasses
I could have well-avoided
Had I held my tongue and other sinful parts of me
But each sin has made me wiser in the ways of my mortalty
And I am better in the end for all I've said and done
Had I been that SQUEAKY clean
I would have been a boring sort
Had I not been through it, God would not
In all good faith
Have sent his broken angels to my blackmsith shop
Where I could listen, knowing, to their hearts
While hammering at my forge
Making fire in the night.

01/22/2002

Posted on 01/22/2002
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