Mormon Artist

Yawheh: Prologue to The Temple

By Jonathon Penny

I am, but not obsequious:
no star-eyed worshipper of will.
Defender-of-the-faith at cost,
I am a bleeder-at-the-gills.

This Gospel hits me where I breathe:
It roils the very blood of me;
seasons the very meat and meal
and sets the organs ill at ease.

I am, but not levitical,
no cutter of the hair to cut,
no saline soul mechanical.
I am a why-er of the what.

This Covenant grips me by the groan:
It fells and flings me to the soil
as I were seed so to be thrown;
as I were tiller, tree, and toil.

I am a doubter in the dark,
a wrestler with angelic limbs.
I brook no counterfeiting luck,
but look for heralds of high Him.

This Ordinance wrings me by the nape.
This Cherub bars me from the tree.
This Way bow-bends me to the strait.
This Lord makes mock and mince of me.

I am, though skeptical of bent,
a wearer of the solemn gown–
no rustic git obedient,
no frail finch by breezes blown.

This Image flicks and flutters yet:
at once aggrieves and brings relief;
it faithful fuddles, frowns, and frets;
it holy helps my unbelief.

I am a grasper after Grace.
I am a doer of the word.
I am a yearner after peace.
I am a seeker of the Lord.

This Monarch veils himself in love.
This Sovereign slips the throng and throne.
This Master drudges in the grove
and lordly lives among his own.