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A VOICE FROM THE TOMB It seems far, far too long To remain in this tomb Awaiting my birthing From this confining womb. It's painful and lonely here In this cold, damp space: Darkness and silence In my chrysalis case. Confusion wringing and twisting To deal with Truth's Call. Longing in surges of agony For any comforting at all. Grant me faith, my Lord: The tomb's promises are true; There's genuine transformation . . . Yet even in darkness I follow You. I await my metanoia To butterfly on wing, To feel the sun's warmth and light While with great alleluia's I sing! |
Additional Notes:
metanoia = total conversion of heart
Metanoia (met-un-oi-yu) was a religious "buzz word" in the 1970's, I think.
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