Cornered Poem by Joe Bisicchia
Cornered
In our smallness, maybe we think God's hand is just too big to grasp.
Awe the monstrosities our hands can shape can only do their best.
Then brick upon brick upon brick, thick walls and hard to open doors
go as planned, cathedrals, marvels, with aisles toward tabernacles.
And then,
God is where we finally know where God always is.
Trapped.
Published by Anti-Heroin Chic,2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/25/2024 5:00:12 AM # 1.0.0.1119
