Lenten sonnet #2: Sometimes the ache

Some days, everything’s cool; we are content
And health and life are well inside our grip;
But other days your light has all been spent
And darkness intervenes, your heart to strip
Of all its dressings, all its healing balms;
It lays you bare and naked to the bone
And desperate, and devoid of what could calm
Your burning heart, your desperation-groans.
Some wounds are slow to heal, infection-bound–
And some, though now scarred over, still are sore;
What healer could there be to come around
And reach into your still-too-tender core?
What drug, what surgery could ever cure
Your broken heart, the sorrow you endure?

Lenten sonnet #1

The field, long lain fallow through the cold
And bitter winters, shot all through with weeds
And packed-down places, newly has been sold
To better farmers, better hands to bleed
With labor’s loving wounds, the nights and days
Of pulling weeds and compost and manure,
Of plowing, sowing–all the work to raise
A crop, to make the later harvest sure.
The workers work, all knowing that although
They plant the seeds and pull the heavy stones
Away, they cannot make the fields grow;
They cannot give it life. But still, with silent groans
Of waiting, expectation, pain, and joy,
They ask the Lord His mercies to deploy.