it is hard not
to judge you judging
me, though Love calls
me to turn my cheek
to hand, to bare my soul
again and then some,
suffering darts of pompous
intercession from log-filled eyes,
my tainted flesh assuming.
but Love will have the final
say, and glean the mild sheep from
the gloating goats.
here veiled ‘neath mantle of
pure Grace and nothing
more, to tremble from
self-righteous charity, to
offer cheek to hand, my
soul to bare and not to
judge…and not to
judge…and not to
judge… but love.
kat ~ july 20, 2015
like mercury colliding... 