I place my empty vessels with the King.
Once filled with longing, sentiment and pride,
they sated no one’s thirst, though ego tried—
sin, disappointment, sorrow, hurt ’t would bring.
Knowing devilish poison these contained,
reminded old, dead dregs drained from each spout,
all sediment’ry visage I poured out
of Dionysian wine heartstrings had feigned.
Now in God’s presence, as He cleans smeared crocks
from motives, meanings, memories of words
and clears my mind from myths’ entangling cords,
a tale-abating door behind me locks.
I’m freed! The Gospel story’s what I’ll tell
and offer Living Water from Christ’s well!

Would that a recollection could expire;
Not in the fuzzled hedgerows of old age,
But here amidst the furrows of a sage
And active mind -- A rustle of attire;
A scent, familiar, quickening desire;
A voice as soft as silence on a stage --
Unbundled straws like kindling to the page
That sets this enigmatic heart afire --
Would that I could entreat vacuity
To bar a thought, to keep it squarely shuttered,
Preventing it from creeping back inside --
The vacant plots might cleanse my memory,
Might numb an ache and leave a mind uncluttered --
The healing of a vast unfeeling void.