Knees bent, prostrate,

they whisper,

inaudibly petitioning for a

tempering of the storm

wanting it to transform

into something lukewarm.

Turning to prayer,

souls adrift,

trees swaying under the pressure

of the gale,

drowning in catastrophe,

wretched misfortune.

Such is the message delivered

before HIM.

Times are turbulent,

the pain unyielding,

some reprieve, if you will.

Knees straight, vertical,

they hoot and howl,

innocence lost,

vulnerability unseen,

every confidence  in the world,

when the stars are aligned

in their favour.

Turning to ego,

souls misplaced,

believing it their own genius

when prowess and flair

their way comes.

No need for gratitude and appreciation

discernment betrayed

with a head full of pomposity,

parading about in a peacock costume

majestic, dignified and refined.

What’s this?

Dark clouds brewing,

the sky: rumbling and roaring,

a thunderous bang

a luminous bolt.

Knees bent, prostrate,

they supplicate,

demanding a truce,

armistice from the

precipitating tempest.

Humble once again,

costume falling aside,

colourful feathers shedding tears

of glory lost, conviction flailing.

“We’ve been here before,” says a voice

from above.

Self-effacing and servile,

knees bent, prostrate,

now daily,

in recognition and thanksgiving –

through joy and sorrow,

heartache and health –

of the gifts HE does bestow,

when they remember,

it wasn’t them alone.














5 thoughts on “Humility

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s