I've written a lot of religiously oriented sonnets. Some are imitations of scriptural passages, others are meditations on various spiritual matters or items from church history. Maybe I'll try to do a series of "sabbath sonnets" for every Sunday. So here's one:
by Gideon Burton
A gray and troubled ocean laps around
my chest, the chilled and murky liquid stings
my limbs, my skin. My heart, a stone, now sounds
another fathom: darkens, quiets, sinks.
Above, the twilight weakly plies the surface,
grows distant; I drop in ashen silt.
The downward current traps me with its bias,
all color black but this my crimson guilt.
With sudden force, uprushed into the light,
I burst into the breath of boldest day.
By hands unseen, with grappling grace and might,
the murky ice dissolves to passing spray.
With calming force he warms a chilling soul;
With arms and warmth revives and makes me whole.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - ant.photos