There is very little of a poet inside of the hand that wrote this miserable sonnet. Yet, it is the first sonnet I have ever written.
The Sleeping Bride
A life to live in fear of faith
Could not achieve a grace which met
A life to pay receiving debt
His love, His grace, His truth, then scathed
The Maker shown; a truth forgot
A sleeping bride in slumber white
Now they are dreaming in the light
A death of man which sin had wrought.
Is there hope to see His face?
To blot the blotch that once had stained
Can there be receiving grace?
The death of sin that god had pained
Awake! O bride, now hear his call
And heed His name, the Lord of all!
-M.D.K.
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