Cool breeze that
Issues forth from
Frosty lips
Refreshes, pleases, and caresses
My lips burn with fire
Burn the air around them
Hot vacuum of the thunder clap
In ears around me
I am become the double edged sword of the tongue
Adept at being loud
I talk. I charm. I ease
But it is time
To sheath the sword and listen
The time for vulnerable peace
On my face before You
So now I wait
In unfamiliar silent frailty
To see if
You
are my faith
You
are my life
You
are my job, my hope, my love
Do not sleep
Do not slumber
Do not let my foot slip
On the sword
I will fall on it without You
2 comments:
I think I'm missing a transition, but I'll need to reread it a few times before I see it.
Who owns the frosty lips and the fiery ones? Same person? Narrator "I" now uncharacteristically silent?
Interesting mixed metaphor or the sword being something I could slip on (under my feet?), but then fall on as well, an old image for noble suicide.
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