Storm in the Friday Night Love Feast
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
He raised his blue-veined wrists in notes to God
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The last
Force was to come, bolts to the lightning rod
And oak, in heaven’s utterness and blast
Away the mereness of the vespers song
That we were singing. Wrists were raised to Christ,
And God the Father looked down on my strong
Desire. The Holy Ghost was not enticed
To shock those wrists and veins with flashing power.
Instead I jolted into life above,
There in that pulsing, lyric worship hour.
I did not wait for heaven’s veinless love.
..A love that does not have both blood and veins
….Is lifeless like blank thunderstorm domains.