by Pavel Chichikov
By grief exhausted and dismay
Against His gracious foot I lay
To pillow there, the meadow sweet
With garnet poppies, yellow wheat
The sun as yellow as the grain
Behind my lids subdued a pain
Of moments, and the southern breath
Of mercy's breeze subdued rank death
But up again, an anguish spread
Of guilt, a crown around my head
Compressing thought, a squeezing grip –
Remorse the lashing of a whip
Love received but turned away
As lashes do can strip and flay –
Innocence can writhe and twist
Tormented by an egoist
Down before the royal Child
The only monarch undefiled,
But He whose foot I lay upon
Was small enough to rest on mine
Infant, remedy my fault
Though I may fail you can exalt –
But I am little, little one
And every finished fault is done
But here I shoot a shaft of wax
Though it be soft it still can pierce
The arid matchwood of your heart
That mine shall flame so yours may start
And flame together as one joy –
It is My anguish I employ –
Then with My glory like a robe
Wounded children I enfold
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
