Fountain

I have allowed to my former master:
Skirted his courts, looked inside.
Pledged never to enter, but found myself caught.
Now, leaving, I fear he has ambushed my mind,
Hollowed my soul.

Stumbling and reeling on my own two feet
I remember the Other, more compassionate One,
Whose pure Fountain had washed the old life away.
Stubborn and twisted, unforgivable, I remember.

Though I pant for cool water from my sweet Master's cup
To purge my heart and quench my shame,
My feet take me around to where the contrast is less
So my impurities won't muddy His pure Fountain.

I peer in at the depth -and the height- of All Love
Exclaim in my soul how I'd long to be free,
Denying the hope that He'd love me once more,
And go on my way with a sad aftertaste.

Under a rock, in the rain of my tears,
I hear a voice, strong but concerned,
Calling me out, claiming the Fountain,
Its power to save.

I answer, objecting; citing my filth.
Saying nothing -no-one- could cleanse me and live
My filth would ruin, destroy, and disease.
The Fount, pure as diamonds, would stain and grow stale.

My Master replied, all wisdom and grace:
"Son, return to your Master, and he will clean you.
His Fount he would stain, so that you can be free.
Drink of the Fountain, taste until you are full.
I am jealous for you, that you might live."