Which of these Truths?
Which will you bind,
which will you loose?
To know is simplicity,
to conclude, to deduce.
To wonder is to first fall on one’s knees.
I do not mean to feign humility,
and perhaps I bruise these delicacies.
For holy things are not for all to speak.
Nor before all can they be told.
It is not so modest.
It is not so low.
Indeed, the task is too lofty for me.
//Lofty, 4/19/2019
//Collette Kristevski
Wonder was a sword,
and I asked of Her,
impale me.
Crucify my mind,
for I no longer desire
the wounds of doubt.
//Wounds of Doubt, 4/16/2019
//Collette Kristevski
Euphoria delays herself
as Lethargy runs free
and tethers to my binded soul
that aching reverie.
I told her, “Come, please make your home,”
time creeps immovably,
but wistful dreams and slothful gaze
prolong my Apathy.
The Wonder that once caressed my soul
now sings Despondency,
and still the clock hand whispers slow
against His “Come and be.”
–Despondency by Collette Kristevski
* This poem is the fourth post in the series, Death to Despondency. Click here for the first post to read from the beginning.
Collette Kristevski 