Sophia's Lament in Isaiah

In the highest peak of my heavenly life I wanted to flow down Through the gates of my grave without any strife The place where I now drown I’ll never feel the warmth of the life-giving Even the living sun Who dwells in the Pleroma of the living I’ll never see that son The Adamas of Light born from Daveithia Who dwells in heaven’s world I’m not worthy of the name Sophia For my soul has been whirled Out of my high position like shepherds’ tents I have rolled up my life As a weaver, and my grey soul now laments By my own hand-made knife That has now cut my silver string from the loom From day, now in this night You bring upon my soul the blistering doom Like a lion of might You have broken my bones just as I calmed down I moan like a grey dove My soul crumbles as I look skywards to home 11 O living sun of love I am trapped by death, be my shield in this tomb 11 What words can my soul say He himself has dragged me here because of sin I will walk in the Way With each step taking a year as I still spin Wait! A light blinds my eyes This path is where all my children will find life Through him who heard my cries Now my soul finds sunlight, who had not one strife Who did not come to kill I now know my fall was not his misdoing Instead it was my will All things that has occurred was by my doing For I could not say still That fearsome lion who shattered all my bones Was my aborted child You have resurrected my body from stones Though I was once exiled Your love has made an exodus from my death From the dark, endless void For you have burned away my black chains of sin Through love none can avoid The grave and death himself cannot praise your love But those who lust for void Cannot find your love, for they refuse hope’s dove 11 Their lusts will be destroyed Only the living ones, the children of light Can gives thanks like myself Mothers and fathers will tell children at night Of the tale of themselves How they fell from me, and your faithfulness now How the sun will save them My bright children shall sing with brass throats and bow Shining as morning’s gem With their tongues made of harp strings, bowing the knee Seeing the Pleroma They will dwell in heavenly eternity Based on Isaiah 38:10-20, Hezekiah’s Song of Thanksgiving