For seven years I walked with demon guides,
divining deathless words for mortal men;
tales of dark wisdom they gave me besides,
draining my soul and filling it again
with darknesses of suffocating airs—
When they spoke cunning fates, my lips spoke doom,
but my own heart knew sleep that drowned all cares,
leaving me in a throbbing, blind-swirled tomb.
But through the savage mist I peered, at times,
seeking some light, if wavering, or plain,
or whether it reminded of my crimes.
Then these men spoke, and through me scattered pains
quick and electric, and my gods shrank, awed,
and then I knew these men were men of God.
This poem is part of my series “Kingdom Sonnets,” most of them being retellings of stories and moments from Scripture, particularly ones that captivate the imagination by what they leave unsaid.