by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
muscle falling off the bone
my position gasping prone
tendons don't care if I move
if they don't have to contract
or otherwise in the act
thinking is not possible
my emotions vacant pull
trying to erect themselves
as a hoe in garden delves
seeking what should not be there
so that good plants find their lair
neither hand can grasp the tool
speaking I might almost drool
this is what exhaustion is
yet
I'll stand
compelled by this
voice I know comes from Your lips
livening my finger tips
slowly moving up my arms
moving toes
my body warms
flesh may be cold but my soul
starts on fire as though heaped coals
all surrounded me with flame
from awareness of Your name
thinking of the labor I
rising from Your bed will try
some time soon I'll easily
move again
my heart come free
from the body's prison cell
as Your love my life still tells
broken, tired flesh is all
energized not by the pall
earth and its food offer me
but Your burning charity
stoked by grace my blood will rush
muscles will profuse and flush
I will sow Your fields some how
Your words seed, Your cross my plow
