Faith in Deed…

November 28, 2013

mustard seed mountain

Well, I’ve been worrying for a while now,
And Jesus was right;
It doesn’t make you any taller.

-It just kept getting
Smaller
And smaller

Until I sort of lost it-
“Faith”
My little pet mustard seed.
My
Faith,
My floundering faith,
In deed.

“And which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? If you then are not able to do the least, why are you anxious for the rest?”

-Luke 12:25-26

 

“But I will hope continually,
And will praise You yet more and more.
My mouth shall tell of Your righteousness
And Your salvation all the day,
For I do not know their limits.
I will go in the strength of the Lord GOD;
I will make mention of Your righteousness, of Yours only.”

-Psalm 71:14-16

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Horizons Lie…

November 5, 2013

Horizons lie,
And the ground
-however faithful-
Will never take you
To the sky.

“For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” But if you bite and devour one another, beware lest you be consumed by one another! I say then: Walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh.”

Be -The Complement.

May 15, 2012

Wonder now: at the wonder we’ve lost;
How silence its self makes a necessary sound;
How Sicily’s summers never shine on Siberia;
Though the seasons turn, and turn around.

In the midst of a heady,
Melancholy discontent,

Consider this: His perfect plan,
And strive to

be-

The complement.

There’s a duty in destiny.
The part we play when we can’t see.
Character, integrity.
Obedience.
Yes!
“Follow Me.”

To want to and to want, 

and to …give it all away?

Better than a banker’s vault

-better than today,

Hope 

Engraved on hearts of flesh,

a life that can’t… 

help. but. say.

Though He slay me…

I will-

I will trust Him, 

anyway.

“Trust Him, for what? 

We’ll be dead and gone,”

I said,

“-Dirt don’t sing no 

worship song.”

But seeds, they die,

and crops they grow.

Much fruit comes from

those. who. know…

That life’s not all ’bout living

and death’s not all about ends.

“In Him was life,”

I said,

“-In Him was Life…

And this Life was 

the 

Light. of. men.”

This prized, elusive!
Wherewithal,
A melancholly faith?
This doubt under a dull disguise,
Demarcating signs of wraith.

This tender, slender certainty,
This confidence, unplain.
This mere thread,
and yet, so capable
To hold, trust, not in vain,

Is all that’s had,
-And all that’s lost-
When traded for a piece,
Of heaven, fallen, floundering?
-A tear along The Crease.

Faith’s face to face the water’s edge,
Leaves hope, sometimes, to do.
Drowning’s not just nothing, you know?
But reflections tell
hard
truth.

Sipping Down Oblivion…

April 27, 2011

Tonight.
Tonight,
There’s a moon in my heart,
where the sun
used
to be.
No more warm,
golden light,
Just cold, waning
memory.

I remember now, how
a world may end:
sipping down “beautiful”
oblivion.

I feel the cold
I’ve always felt.
The shivers freeze
what once did melt,

and here is all that’s left
of good intentions,
the long fall past the end
of interventions

By a God who wove a net
of grace -escape,
which I wore -wicked- like
a villain’s
long and flowing, tell-tale cape.

What rebellion!
How opposite
of well-deserved Thanks!
To, with His very grace and tender mercy,
Pull such sickeningly brazen, putrid pranks!

Why is it I write poetry,
When my life’s so out of rhyme,
-and everything seems more clear to me,
In the fallen, guilty time?

Resurrender,
Resurrender.
There’s never
not
a right
thing
to do.

A wretched pretender,
a trespass defender.
If ever names were real
reflections
of
the who.

Tumble… dive…
I’m still alive…
-that is, my head still shakes
-my chest still shivers.
Water flowing, without ground,
Makes rainy, silent
waterfalls of rivers.

Don’t ask me what it means;
It’s shame; it’s putrid.
Don’t ask me to explain;
It’s pure disgrace.

My name
-my secret name,
is too rebellious,
To think
to drop this mask,
and show this face.

The real me is both,
it seems,
-though sometimes
it is one-
I KILL The Only Begotten,
God’s beloved Son.

And with this death,
He bought me?!?
What insanity! is this?
Love is SO deep and runs a path
I never would think to guess.

The very Love that ran this course,
to oceans deep and lost,
is found in frigid mountain springs,
having been changed and tossed.

I drink again,
I drink
Him in.
What grace!
How undeserving…
A pitiful convict,
lost and found,
and lost, again,
found serving,

Self…
My forehead wrinkles at the thought,
My mind bends under
the weight of such a Grace.
For such patient, faithful, loving mercy,
I can
-in the world I know-
not find a place.

But there He is, as plain as day,
-to a rebellious son- so constant.

constant
constant
constant
constant
constant
constant
Constant.

Chillest Chief!

November 22, 2010

A dark oblivion…
As if God
On high
Could blink…
How close I feel, to
That abysmal brink.

For a day is as
A thousand years…
He could -in a moment-
Miss
A thousand tears?

I think not, little sparrow…
I
Think
Not.

Still I slip to fall.
Caring, not at all.
For Him who cares for me.
I know, and I can see

Full well,
Rejecting heaven
Over the hell

I choose to live on earth,
In the mud I’m worth.

Some say sin’s the greatest
Stress-reliever…
Then I the chillest chief!
In inconstancy, I cause
The Holy Spirit grief…
With the little bit of faith given,
“Lord,
Help my
Unbelief!”