On this night, again
villainy made its music
Strained, my eyes won’t look, nor seek
not anymore, not what you speak
I hear your voice attack
Its hustling angle of approach
delights the bellicose dark
On this night
I read the black ink of your contract
My eyes made first contact
and I put a flattened palm atop each socket
to stop it
But God’s mind invites the laws of action
to enforce every due effect
of cause’s right
My eyes won’t look
For lack of light
While now I sleep
But God, my rock of ages, speaks
Invites his only proper voice to act
Complete the holy father’s deepest pact
To teach
To lead, to train, to stand
To give and take, to sit and wait and preach
To guard, decree, and countermand
To shake me
when I wake
and arm me for the morning dark
The Replanted Writer 