Homecoming

There's been a rumor of a home-coming.
It's been a long time coming since we saw him runnin'
Away, when the days
Went to bed
And night took center stage
Instead
Of a spotlight shining,
And all that's right lining
The clouds.
Hearts broke when that love choked, and
Faces fell and with that death knell,
Telling in the valley, all is not well.

Now, a word passes that the earth's turned,
The set days are done and the sun's blaze won (still it burned).
Such blues are the dues for lessons learned,
As yearned mercy earned the reward in store.
And homecomings call for more, for demolition.
There are no free exhibitions.
By admission walls fall to break open gates,
Silent debates shake a heart's make
Until love appears and melts all fears.
That's what it takes on the horizon,
When once again grace makes for bright eyes,
For a father to see his son that was dead rise.

No tears in the land.

Hard lines curve when they meet the verve of a prophet
Drunk on words burned in his heart's eye-sockets.
Fed by the bread of promised peace when he's dead
Led him to eat meat out of unclean beaks ahead.
Patiently waiting for more thoughts to resound in his head,
He's being carried along to speak God's grief in His stead.
Calling a people to their knees before there's no time for reprieve,
Still they wait for rain, when it's different water they need.

Jots

The five-minute rhapsody,
Wrapped up in my mind-mapped rap-city.
The composition commissioned by emotional effusion,
Cutting quick confusion, discerning truth from illusion,
Myelin-soothing, neural-network cruisin',
Defining new paths with renewal soothing
Regenerative washing, yeah, that old man's losing.
While the world keeps watching, fruit keeps growing,
Wait till it matures, reaping the church's former sowing,

The five-minute thanksgiving rhapsody,
Born from reflection of God's love's capacity,
To take concern for a man, how can this be?
Less than a messed-up, renaissance masterpiece,
Little worm rebel of audacity,
To stand against the World-weaver, that's blasphemy.
How can this be?

Faith primer

Faith is the wonder and believer's disposition
To acknowledge God's power and His Word's perfect precision
At defining the unknown and bringing to pass past decisions.
For God's acts and decrees were established pre-beginning.


Faith is the delight in the unveiling of the mystery
Being told the secret before it's man's history,
Still just as certain, but more rewarding for us, the finite,
Proceeding from and leading to seeking God and proclaiming the returning White Knight.

Faith is a gift God gives to illumine,
The truth about Himself, so that we're not consumed in,
The purifying blaze.
Instead, to reward us with the infinite gift:
The life from out of the tomb that forsook getting saved.

Evil shall be called evil.

If I was peddling melodies with tongue-twisted falsehoods,
You'd still buy my lies, and you'd swear they were real good,
Because you're just another puppet in the dark domain,
And you need a real rescue, from all that's profane.
Calling evil good and good evil the same,
Making a mockery of the Lord and saying you call on His Name,
But, you stand sparse, with no fruit, in shame,
Pretending you love him, but it's really the devil you claim,
Turn, brother, turn, escape the coming Day,
When the bronze feet step down, and the blazing gaze penetrates.
Turn, brother, turn, put away your false gods,
The Lord is not mocked, a Shepherd bringing his rod.

One last chance.

The depths of despair knuckle-wrapped around the wheel,
An air of no care, directing us to seven seals,
When it's finished, they're no deals.
When loves diminished, they're no appeals.
So wakeup and turn around before you're broken to kneel.

Daily dip

Page flip, pen dip, dark blots drip off my pen's tip
Before I scribble scrawl my thoughts on the dead tree's skin,
Reminding me that writing requires inspiration.

While the war cries rise from Israeli skies,
And Hamas leaders die, still Intelligence lies,
You remain unmoved, all is before Your eyes.

Three-line musings like headlines, eyeball magnetic,
This mind's restlessness,
Like a journeyman, poetry gone peripatetic.