( a new word for me. Means adj.
1884, from Latin limen “threshold, cross-piece, sill”, on dictionary.com)
The call first came,
stirred up cyclone of fear,
of who I really was.
Rain of accusations,
pounding in my grey matter,
Grip of steel, to yank me down to hopelessness.
Hope surfaced in a specific cross,
raw skinned, bloody, bruised figure,
crying “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do!”
at my first, stumbling steps forward,
with stammering confessions bathed in tears.