For a sonnet is too constraining

    And Freedom is Anarchy

What form may my words take

    But if not Praise

I lift my voice to exalt the LORD

    Though my body is carved with sin

My God has Faith in Me

     Why though, should I be chosen?

Lord, I am Wretched-- do not touch me

     For I am not worth to wash Thy Feet

Yet You embrace my weeping soul

     Does this not tarnish the Glory

     And the Power

     And the Kingdom,

Or perhaps, it proves 

     You

     Are

     Love