On His Omniscience

How foolish we, who think to see the course
of things to be as if our wisdom ranked
sufficient for the calculations that
requires. How small our knowing when compared
to He Who Knows the Thoughts of All, our Lord.
Awareness with out thought and knowledge with
out learning! Ever understanding, He
made time but to encompass His works like
a frame or a glass bottle might. Their worth
is Heaven’s platinum and diamonds; they
are indestructible, so what was done
in time for us renews eternally
a contract made. The future holds for Him
no mysteries; He planned it. Every day
He makes it out of present. He made it
unchangeable before the rock and fire.

This was my first experiment into writing blank verse--i.e. unrhymed iambic pentameter--in college. It was this attempt to begin to bring discipline to my usually free-verse style of writing that eventually led to the sonnets that have already been posted here. Rhyme and meter still present considerable challenges to me, but I continue to try to wrestle language and passion and meaning into the strict forms of yesteryear; I think poets today tend to get lazy, and I don't want that to be true of me.