Sonnet for the Sacrament

I was afflicted. Sorrow harrowed soul
and mind, burying happiness beneath
anxiety's forlorn and blackest sod.
A moth-eaten misery; a corrupted whole.
Howl. Weep! Such scenes as did before me seethe.
Dearest approbation of loving God,
lacking for lust and lies. Oh, man of dust!
For what did you betray His holy trust?
Then fury calms. Amid anguished-rage, still,
a voice sounds. It turns away my last hour--
"Son, will you be healed?" it asks. Answer, "I will."
Then sweet from what source springs Grace and Power!
The sweeping, rushing, up-born newness of day!
Blessed Be Christ--my Truth, my Life, Light, and Way

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