always something there

sure, there is always something there

to clean up, to be made straight

i am aware that you are perfect

and perfection is that towards which
you gently, and often not so gently
tug me, nudge me and push me

but my perfection is dependent

on your all-pervading presence
that your hand may re-make
and re-mould my inner person

my being has been corrupted by the world

with much filth, and in turn
my soul, with much dirt, too has polluted
the world you created so beautifully

so, again i plead for your covering

my soul, with your gentle hovering
over my every moment and every space
that i escape not from your presence

your presence is your providence,

the fertile soil in which my soul
thrives like a tree planted by the brook
yielding fruit in season and out of season
with no withered branch, nor leaf
drooping to taint your glory