by The Highland Shepherd's

THE SHAPE OF GOD

There is a place in me the shape of God
where nothing else will fit.
However hard I push and prod
or make some soft facsimile of it.
It’s space I can’t quite reproduce
with curlicues and twists, where new dimensions sprout.
It bends one’s centre to Its use,
shapes one to what It’s all about
without which I’m an empty husk
filled with dreams of gold or fame
my inner daylight turned to dusk
nothing else is quite the same!
In His shape He makes me be
And I arise, the one, complete and happy me.

Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004 used with permission
 

Harold Macdonald Poetry