This sonnet was originally written in April 2018, as a part of a poetry class I was taking in college.

Oh Abba! Father! Your strong face I seek;
I’ve left your course and coarsely sinned with scorn;
I’ve fondled death and kissed the wicked horn
That gored me down. Aground, I’m fallen, weak.
The gift you gave, I spat it back. I speak
With lies to deaden songs of praise each morn;
The songs your birds once harmonized, I mourn,
For now I suffer silence through the week.
Oh, Abba! Let your cup of wrath not leak.
Train me as if I were just freshly born
And made of softer clay that’s not so worn.
Soften, adorn with peace my forlorn cheek.
For though I sin and tempt your righteous knife,
Forgo my death and pour me Jesus’ life.