Falling Face-first
If you should see me on one of these days when my face falls
And drops to the ground, baring all that’s inside,
You may be surprised by the exposed dust and the grime,
But would not, I hope, be wholly surprised.
For you surely know that all of us children
Of God and of dust are decaying, though growing,
And know, if you met yourself on the inside,
How violently all our heathen blood’s flowing
Contorts and distorts all our chambers of pride;
You would not then, looking at me, be surprised.
For I am a child, and my fallen face shows this,
And reveals the congealed sin of which I’m comprised,
Yet here in these words I call to my maker
Who knows me, uncovers me, takes me inside.
The Consolations of Writing 