Steel Poem by Christabel McCooey

The one who knit me in the womb,
Who counts the hairs upon my head,
Who rests his hands upon my shoulder, warm,
Who breathes in the nape of my neck.

It is into your heart I pour myself,
It is into the current of your purpose that I ride,
Never will I be drawn into fruitless toil,
For a bitter master,
Or marvel at riches hoarded by few.

My resolve is steel.

The magnetism of your gaze, Jesus.
It touches not flesh but soul.

Tracing the contours of greed and pride,
Fear and smallness.
It whispers, 'Hush, all is well'.

The Lord is near,
Feel his smile upon your eyes.