Emmanuel, please, release this soul of mine
And set it free from all in me that cry
The brooding brain and haunted heart, they die
But what am I to do when hopes decline
Except restrain and keep the pain in line
In written rhymes that writhe in rue and woe
Salvation hardly comes in poems though
Unless they turn to prayers, despite design
But when do words become a worship sign
You know my heart, if I’m sincere or sly
Your wisdom sees the wiles in every lie
To hell the metered musings, so malign
From all this artful craft should I resign
And stay away to find a way to pray
With no pretence of truth that goes astray
Can I indeed return to grow your vine
And there depose my wits that dote and whine
To plough the soil for fruit that leavens life
Your wine and bread will soothe the soul in strife
And help me bloom along a blessed bine
A branch as many more to share a shrine
They bind the brothers born from God the Geist
Oblivious, yes, to all but Jesus Christ