Category Archives: poetry

Choice

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You think it´s a choice to love God or not;

As if buying shoes for your cute little tots.

That’s a choice.

Should the fly choose the horse, or the pile in the pasture?

The pile will not squat, that’s the end of the matter.

Thats a choice.

Perhaps one would bite on a sweet candy apple.

Or swallow a bullet, his pea brain to rattle.

That’s a choice.

But you love to breathe His provision of air.

How could you possibly come to not care?

Where’s the choice?

And you love your body; you can feel, and that’s cool!

So how can you hate him?  You weren’t born a fool.

Where’s the choice?

Awareness

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They call me a man, and among them, yes I am.

But that is not the sum of my name.

For there are those who were, long before I was,

and they have been faithful to remain.

God is first and God is last,

all else falls to and fro.

Among the throng I do belong;

But a child, and from below.

——–

Ancient ages past have seen

The Faithful do His will.

Though in your sight maturity’s mine,

A child I was, and still.

The pride of man: “I’ve grown enough;

I’ve conquered all I have.

Respect me now for I’ve become.

Yes, I’ve become a man!”

——

And He said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Again…….

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Why did you leave in such a great hurry?

It was not that your work called your name.

For once in the door, to your coffee you scurried.

A sigh left your lips without shame.

Did good conscience allow you to taste the small sips?

Did you listen to conscience at all?

While in haste you retreated from my threatening lips,

Your darkness still covers your pall.

Opportunity came and was wasted again.

You had not the strength to ask.

The hope that releases the severest of pain,

Is forsaken for some trivial task.

Two rooms

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In my house are many rooms where I may live and thrive.

But two stand out as special rooms, for Him they glorify.

One room is bare, kept clean for prayer.  The other is kept for man.

In one my anxious heart is healed.  The other for words to send.

A path between the two is worn; a richly trodden way.

This is the path I’ve taken thrice, this wondrous golden day.

The room of send abounds with shelves, and a pile upon the floor.

The shelves contain the rarer words.  The pile I use the more.

What words appeal?  What words reject?  What words will action bring?

My fingers scurry through the mess to cause your heart to sing.

” Praise God all creatures big and small.  Adore his Holy name.  His righteousness and mercy sent has saved my soul from shame!”

Malicious Shadows

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I cannot blame the Sun

For intensely being bright.

I cannot blame the moon

For shining through the night.

I cannot blame the wicked

For hating what is right;

For embracing all that is not God,

In his blazing Holy Might.

God Himself ordained the Sun

And gave it a place to remain.

The moon remains and serves him well,

Despite its shifting name.

God has given truth to man;

Displayed abundantly.

Account we’ll give on bended knee,

When his face we all will see.

This land is shadow and now proclaims:

“Your wickedness will end!”

When shadows cease and God appears,

No longer means to mend.

Malicious thoughts against the Lord;

A taunting threat displayed.

The great proud smiles of those who hate,

Their filthy lips, like tattered strings;

Unravel and are frayed.

Who has ears to hear these things?

Who has eyes to see?

Let him acknowledge Jesus Christ,

And bow his wicked knee.

Even so Lord Jesus come!

“Danger Will Robinson!”

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I do not trust the rattlesnake.
He is not friend to me.
Just for spite my life he’ll take.
So I prefer to let him be.

My house is mine and his is his.
With death we cross the threshold.
We both shall keep what power is.
With swiftess strike and strength untold.

In his house my blood is his.
What will be the remedy?
To stay my feet from his filthy floor;
Bar and lock my purified door.

But what is this, I see brothers do?
They do not take note with fear.
But go to the place where death awaits;
Not caring what they held dear.