| Tabernacle of Clay
by Cecily Huefner
A frantic, futile fall to bended knee?
To ask, to seek, to knock but not to find
Makes hope grow slack and wither. Prayer is free–
But answers, highly charged. A faith combined
With works should warrant working, warm reply
From God to man. But what if silence reigns?
A covenantal breach? Such will not edify.
So what of acts, if acts bring only pains?
And yet continues knee to floor, and bread
To mouth, and dust to dust–a cry, a plea
For promised answers in the heart and head:
To understand, to recognize, to see.
When tight the fingers clasped remain below,
Divinity takes root, and starts to grow.
Feel free to copy or distribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgement of authorship