Come Soon, O Ye Sapphire Stone

I wade in the dirt of my own folly, hoping the eyes of one would peak through the dune, yet not sink. I feel as miry clay and a stone, but I know I am a ruby (and he a sapphire). This vessel is poor, as I cannot mingle with the kings and princes of this world. There is weakness in my bones, for I am buried treasure, and no one seems to dig. I cannot swim, and the mucky waters make a tumult. I’d prove my worth if it were possible, but the eyes and ears of those who’ve passed by have not perceived this glorious shade of red. I have never been trash, but this flesh has wasted me away. I’ve long dealt with counterfeits. I am exhausted.

Come soon, O ye sapphire stone, for I met the king of Persia. His eyes were a whirlpool of chaos; an ocean of endless depth, and I feared his countenance. I despised him in my sight, and shuddered inwardly at his presence. I am no Esther. I have no crown. I see only her fast of three days, and the loss of her breath at his sight; his dreadful eyes. This cannot be, for the final man was not he.

Break through this mountain, O Lord, and spare me at thy return.