the septenary (diapholom) wrote,
the septenary

  • Mood:
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palimpsest skew

The dew of the Lord rinsed me with silence
and a cloud of peace rose over my head,

guarding me.
It became my salvation.

Everybody quivered in horror.
They issued smoke and a judgment,

but I was silent, near my Lord,
who was more than shadow, more than foundation.

He carried me like a child by its mother.
He gave me milk, his dew,

and I grew in his bounty,
rested in his perfection.

I spread my hands out as my soul pointed to the firmament
and I slipped upward to him
who redeemed me.

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