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Dying, Isaiah Remembers

whatever I said then

here I am

it was too much to take in

woe woe woe

now I remember

high and lifted up

nothing but the pining

look but do not perceive

feathers in my throat

each one had six wings

hollow in my bones

one cried unto another

who can save us from God

the great forsaking

who comes in smoke

the posts of the doors are shaking

gives fire for water

how long

not bread but a stone

how long

strips the terebinth down to its stock

how long

until the city is wasted

the suckling forsaken

and the holy left utterly desolate

send me


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