Poetic Journal Year 166 B.E.

166.10 1st Peter 3 <SS>

1 Noble at birth, you rise, yet abased by loved-ones, your spirit flees elsewhere, like a tossed snowball that melts unnoticed.

2 The celestial harp sees your heart shrink, bereft of warmth, standing before the gates of the city.
3 Your blood smears its strings with each pluck.
4 The few comrades that remain pure of heart seek to embrace you, open their habitations,
5 They beg you to sanctify your heart.
6 They find it has fled to wide open spaces.
7 Placeless it wanders, a spirit seeking the smallest of kindness, some lover's sanctuary.

8 What utterance of love will you know and accept, what safety enter.
9 Near what stronghold against the winds of winter will you abide.

© 2009 Kåre Enga [166.10] 2009-03-27

Scripture scramble from Hidden Words of Baha'u'llah: 1:A22; 2-7:P17; 8,9:A10