image by rkkleung, on Pixabay, slightly modified
Doubt
On the brink of a chasm
Teetering on its scabrous edge
A convict awaits his doom, seeking
Salvation he does not merit
As he stands condemned.
A vine, a lifeline, stretches forth
Offering freedom from death or worse,
But the dangling vassal
Doubts its strength, ignores,
Withdraws hand to breast.
Dizzy with shapes and
Twisting ground, drunk with self
Lets wings pass by untouched
Doubting their loft, uncertain.
Desperate, he sheds his skin
To become light, ethereal,
His own craft with narrow fork
And narcissistic fervor
While a staff is offered
To give balance to uneven scales.
He rejects the life gift
Doubting the strength of its chain.
The overture of hope to his
Hopeless posture, a gift given
Time and time again yet ignored
Is a bounty from the
King of the Mountain,
The King of all mountains,
Noble holder of the chasm over
Which the unwise hangs.
The King is coming,
Ground becomes hallowed
With His step, His presence
Felt where terror once filled.
Scales of eyes removed,
The lost child sees clearly
And doubts no more.
Why does He come for
Such a soul as this?
This mighty King,
Who, in concerns of love, comes Himself.
Himself to save His opus.
Himself when doubt calls a tune
It can no longer play.
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R.L. Appleby is a pastor and writer from South Texas where he lives with his wife, Robin.
His work has been published in Agape Review, Verse-Virtual Literary Magazine, and The Clayjar Review.
March 2024 issue