He took on weakness for His strength,
His fragrance marred with such a stench,
That weak men would His true strength know,
Call bankrupt every effort of their own.

Monochromacy in shades of brightness,
Fading seamless into palest dark,
The shadows meld with darker paint,
Stark whitewashed walls lean into light,
No chaos or mismatching things,
The colours frightened into line,
At the bark of undiscerning eyes.

The sky is fog,
And I pierce my hand into its depths,
Yet I don't make it even half way through,
But glance a trailing blow along its teeth,

And - a little slower than a run - I turn to jog,
Under the fathomless sky in all its breadth,
And I feel my breath again renew,
And trust the sturdy path beneath my feet,

Although I only see a glimpse below,
For the sky is fog.