To Calm My Soul
In these days, foretold as the last,
daunting memories from my past
echo in chambers of my mind.
Soon I will leave them all behind
and saunter through an open door,
leaving behind what is no more.
But restful peace alludes me now.
I wonder, with a furrowed brow,
what do I seek but cannot find?
What have I left so undefined?
Is there answer to my query?
Why do I shoulder this worry?
There may be a sin to confess,
a reason for my restlessness.
Within me is a wound, not healed,
a festering that will not yield.
If my concern is to find rest
I must subvert this constant test.
From this stirring there is no cease
no modicum of soothing peace.
I am a potter's vase of clay,
crumbling, fit to be thrown away.
I need more courage to withstand.
Help me, God, please offer Your hand.
Copyright © Marti Sutherland | Year Posted 2016
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