Sonnet: Carrying Calvary with Doubt and Desire
by John Kendall Hawkins
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In the metastasized blackness of night I could feel
my situation slip, drip bleak, bleak, bleak, away,
like water torture, ever bleaker, until I broke
and gave up my orthodoxy in a mad croak
of despair, and paroxysm of fright. I would pay,
they'd said, and here I was pit-pendulum real.
Jesus said, Be Me, bear the cross of your being
in a dimension we can't hope to understand,
and together in communion, one and many,
we may overcome the mystery's tyranny
and see at last the final paradigm He planned,
made whole again in the process of new seeing.
In our final hours by the sea of consciousness
we must let go of what we can't hold, onward press.
