Tears may soak pillows
And sorrows breed with darkness
But joy wakes at dawn
Upon this rock I take my stand,
I shall not stand alone;
I feel a strength beneath my feet,
A strength that’s not my own.
I feel a coolness in its shade,
A balm for flitting breast;
I feel the pulse of holy heat,
A place to sit and rest.
Upon this rock I build my life,
I shall not build in vain;
It anchors me to solid ground,
And lifts me up again.
A sure foundation, set in stone,
An anchor for life’s seas –
So blow and bluster, autumn wind,
You shall not conquer me.
Master Linguist, conjugate
A metaphor on Nature’s slate,
String Your Words like diadems,
Loose Your lexiconic gems.
Idioms, Creation’s cloak,
(Accents for the simpler folk)
Speak in volumes , tell in prose,
In every dialect disclose
The glory of Your Living Word.
Among the wonders I have heard,
I hear Your discourse in the breeze,
Syntax in the whispering leaves;
Alphabets in Milky Way,
Grammar at each breaking day.
Master Linguist, breathe in me
Words that shape my prosody.
Now my vision warps, distorts,
as through a glass I view my life;
frosty film in darkness courts
misconstructions, blindness rife
with apprehensions misconstrued,
where senses, seizing on a ghost
demand surrender to the food
that liars choose to feed on most
Then, my blindness will be healed,
cataracts will be removed;
scummy blur will be repealed
as trust in what is real is proved
to make all else fade into night,
misty membranes melt away;
I will recognize the Right
when Truth and Beauty shine like day.
You lay there,
smashed into obscurity,
deluged with all that a stormy heaven could hurl.
Yet you don’t drown in your sorrows
or address invitations to a well-deserved pity-party.
you lie where you’ve fallen,
a pummelled version of your famed beauty,
and you bloom.
How dare you?
What makes you think you can stake your claim to beauty
down there in the dirt?
Why do you answer with this slow smile,
this peaceful glow on cherubic cheeks?
What do you have that
that yours is a beauty of
“For I hold you by your right hand – I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, Don’t be afraid, for I am here to help you.” Isaiah 41:13
Rosy capes of scented dew
Cling to apple trees;
Classic stripy pollen crews
Buzz on scented breeze
Petals draped as haute couture
Fancy every stem;
God-prints marked in fashion sure
Strut to runway’s end
There is a splendour in nature that rivals the best that Paris and Milan have to offer. Jesus Himself compared lilies to dazzlingly dressed monarchs: “See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed as one of these.” Matthew 6:28 NIV Open your eyes to the ‘fashion show’ all around you today – you have a front-row seat!