The only muse worth listening to, The only One who even is, Corrects us, guides us, leads us. His Consuming fire will clean, renew Transforming everything we do. We sinners turn. This living flame Burns off the chaff. The devil's blame Becomes as nothing. We are still. As falsehood breaks, each true word will No longer be lukewarm, nor tame.
Linked to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge where the challenge is to use the rhyme word “still” in the D part of the rhyme pattern ABBAACCDDC. For another poem on the Holy Spirit see Mary Hood’s poem Holy Spirit and her observation that there’s a difference between the Greek muses and the Holy Spirit. I used to talk about “muses”, but given the Holy Spirit I see no need to hide Him behind some Greek myth.