This is a different Psalm 75 poem from the one in the psalmfest, but it’s been floating in my head for a few days. It’s similar to a poem from last month, but sometimes poets get obsessed with things and write a lot about them. (for the ease of the reader, here is the text of psalm 75, NIV)
Who Holds Its Pillars Firm
I am one of earth’s people, trembling.
It is I who sits alone in the dark, afraid
to visit tomorrow, knowing that I am
imperfect, and ill-equipped.
Out of desperation
I reach for the grace of God.
But my quaking is nothing, compared
to the earth and all its people. I
read of thousands gone, like flowers
blown over by the wind, when the
earth half a world away makes
its groaning more violent.
Are you the one tapping the earth,
causing its shivers? Or are you the
one who picks up a few and brings
them to safer ground? How do you
chose which pillars to hold?