Colin Oliver: Endpoem

Given to God,
     the worn sandals of thought
     left at a distant threshold,
one's care is for Him alone
that His care may be for all.

Before Him, in His mystery,
the unclenching
of the fists of knowing --
     the unhanding of all things to Him,
     being in oneself nothing
     and no-one,
     the fool with open palms --
before Him, that one
might happily contain Him.

Being empty and light,
one is God, His all and His love,
held within the light --
     and one sinks as the light
     to God, through God and,
     for His sake, beyond God.

One is
a pebble turned between God's fingers
to be tossed
into the pool of His everlasting clearness
     that His hand might be free.

Poetry Chaikhana
Sacred Poetry from Around the World

About Colin Oliver

Poetry Chaikhana Sacred Poetry from Around the World

About Colin Oliver

Poetry Chaikhana
Sacred Poetry from Around the World