Heaven’s Gaze

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When skies spin cotton candy clouds

(that sticky filament of faith)

our eyes are drawn to Turin’s shrouds

where, light released as holy wraith

descends to us through feeble gaps –

we can’t quite penetrate the haze;

earthly eyes are weak, perhaps

we need to see with heaven’s gaze.

A Lesser God

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Unless the details of this life,

those structures of the things I see,

are faded by Your Glory-light,

take back-seat to Your Majesty,

my eyes will always think they’re true

and fool my senses, charm my mind;

thus taught, my vision makes of You

a lesser god of lowly kind.