by Carol Edwards

Could not have made them love You; inspire awe and reverence, 
a nervousness of what You might do,
but love? Peter, whose mother You healed, was not a soft man.
Had You been a tyrant, would he have adored You to death?
Would he have called Your miracles a great mercy, a hope?

The strong sons of Zebedee humbled themselves to serve,
chiding those shallow in faith who assumed the rich were favored 
of God for their many robes and rings.
A tyrant would favor the rich, cast away the vile, poor, and destitute.
“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.
I come that they may have life.”

The dry well of my soul runs deep, O God;
fill it from the streams of Your glory and grace
that when I drink of it
the stone seeking to devour my heart
is scoured away.

Carol Edwards is a northern California native transplanted to southern Arizona. She lives and works in relative seclusion with her books, plants, and pets (+ husband). She grew up reading fantasy and classic literature, climbing trees, and acquiring frequent grass stains. She enjoys a coffee addiction and aspires to be a succulent mad scientist. Her work has appeared in Space & Time, OpenDoor Poetry Magazine, Origami Poems Project, Uproar Literary Blog, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, Cajun Mutt Press, Gyroscope Review, and The Ocean Waves published by Red Penguin Books. She uploads her poetry to www.practicallypoetical.wordpress.com

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