Plucking a poem from the air,
Wisps of cloud form droplets in my grasp,
Condense to drip down fingers taut,
A chaotic distilling file outstretched,
These stanzas held like dearest dreams,
In ever-refracting light
To stillest rainbows in the beads.

Who is worthy?
The one who drunk deep from the cup in all its fullness.
Who is worthy?
The conqueror of sin and death.
Who is worthy?
The source of all and almighty one.

Praise Him for he did not just shoulder God's wrath for one,
But every sin was poured on him,
Such weighty things demand much more than sweating blood and pierced hands, though he bore those too,
Such weighty things bring the mind to its knees in awe,
He is worthy indeed.