Toppled

If anything will spoil,
it’s the wretched, sinful flesh,
where the heart will lead in song and dance,
while the mind writes the lyric, take its cues.
Conformed to things beneath – on earth.
where darkness has its many hues,
and papers strewn across the floor
brings no good news.

No, not at all.

Oh, to be toppled –
taken down,
humbled!
Better that,
than to stand so proudly
and find my soul in eternity lost.

Millpond Ink Poetry, 2016