April 2, 2013 at 4:46 am (Poems) (, , , , , , , )


Oh the wounds of presumption

That come from within me

Of the good and the bad

That Your eyes can only see

They shift on ceaseless sands

Waves of doubts and fears

That hidden in Your hands

Can remove locusts from years

The haughty judge within

That kicks You off Your throne

Make light of larger things

And shrinks what gets me home

Oh winds and throws of contention

Seek to bend in the Higher Will

Only that His lips would mention

Call the self to be silent and still

All the hope of Love’s prevention

Lays upon a charred alter with fire

The largest finger pointing inward

At the log of selfish desire

Soot and dust again call

For Your Breath to remake all

Into other cheek turning offers

That form joy out of the swiftest misunderstanding

Service from the hands most taken from

Removal of clothes that cloak in “rightness” what reeks of wrong

O my Holy heart Maker

Blow down the walls of “prevention”

Of all that seem to keep

The hate from seeping into my keeping

Instead may it fall like Jericho…full of praise full of praise!

Set me upon Thee in such fires

Remove the dross from my ken

Awaken precious metal and stones

That hide themselves in their own beauty

For You alone make stones and breath

You alone can know my best

You alone know when weakness builds strength

You alone can reveal their length

Between knowing You or about You

There lies the seed on soil

Bring Your water and Your blood

And crack the shell in Your oil

Cause its roots to reach deep for You

Not reaching for a show

But reaching reaching, stretching, yearning

Only You to know

O wounds that bare contrition

Sing out instead of cry

The Wounded Healer always hastens

When in our joy, our tears do dry

For You alone can cause such gravity

To reverse yet hold us down

Into Your will and not to be stopped

Our weakness to shine Your crown

Presumption, contention, misunderstood

What are these wafers that darken our hood?

Nothing nothing compared to Your wounds

That I myself placed on Your head

What is owing unto me?

When You paid all my soul can see

And further beyond where yet it is blind

A Love so full and rich and kind

To give to me a newly blown breath

That rises from ashes paid by my debt

Nothing accounts for all the accounting

Except that which ends in zero

Grace is Your ledger

Oh Forgiver…make me some ink from which You write in it

Shock me daily out of presumptuous stupor

Let Your Life define my actions and reactions

Get the glory my God and King!!

Grace and peace in Yeshua the Messiah ❤


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