The Forge of My Being

I used to ask “why, Lord?”—I used to burn in my own anger and impatience.

When I learned to trust my Lord, He gave me new understanding,

He gave me peace within my heart and mind,

He turned my sorrow and despair into gladness.

My heart was sick with longing, despaired for lack of hope,

I asked “Have I not been most ardently patient, my God?

Have I not followed your decrees when all my fellows fall?

Why do the wicked increase and I am alone chosen for sorrow?”

I spoke with an unknowing tongue and a mind only a brute beast could fathom.

But His holy word proclaims that delays will only make the heart sick,

and it was with the sickness and heaviness of heart that I did speak.

Have I not, among my fellows, been ardently patient—even to the point of ridicule?

My God be my vindication! Show your power through this weak vessel!

The burning desires of my heart are the fire that forges your patience within me.

Now I look eagerly to the goal, pressing onward toward Your will.

For you have shown me that through the trials, and through the storms of life

You are preparing me; I exult that You have found me worthy for such a calling!

I see now that I have been impatient even in my patience, my longing driving me crazy within.

You have chosen me, called me, and prepared everything I need along the way.

Father, I still need patience, though I only have asked for the grace to bear it a while longer.

Be my refuge! Be my Bastion and hope! I will praise You for the path You have given me,

And I will laugh, and rejoice in the trials, these blessed flames that forge my being.

A Psalm of Weariness

These hands were made to serve; these hands were made to heal.

How can I offer help to others when I am not whole myself, my Lord?

Will they not say to me, “physician, heal thyself”?

I am anguished, not in pain or death, but in sickness of heart,

Because of the longings for which I am patiently waiting.

What good is a map, or a known destination, if one has no means to travel?

What good is a calling if the road is not traversable, if the mountain is unassailable?

What good are gifts I cannot use, like so much scuba gear in the snow?

The wicked scorn me at every turn, the righteous mock me.

Is it truly beneficial to serve the Lord, to keep his covenants?

I have fought, fought, Your precepts to Obey;

Sought, sought, Your words alone to say.

Still I will keep faith, Your words of faith stir my soul and quicken me.

I will press on, to dare that mountain, so unassailable—that road, so treacherous.

I know not what You know, I cannot think what You think.

I will not call out—as dearly as my soul is tempted—call out as clay to the potter.

Be my strength, my courage, my song of resolution in Your will and Your way.

Others see me as old fashioned, or strange, or crazy;

Yet I will be more, so much more if it is Your will for me to be.

I’m going to take those Colours.

I have held fast long enough; I have steadied the line.

We wanted to run at the enemy’s first sight, but we stood firm.

I see his Colours coming over the hill, the Standard marching into view,

And I swear I’ll take them at any cost—I’m going to take those Colours.

My arrows have I laid aside, my bow I have unstrung;

I will not need them on this day, and I know I cannot run.

My Commander nods with His assent, my sword I have now drawn,

bloody red breaks forth the day, it tears my heart asunder.

We cannot fall, and cannot fail—I’m going to take those Colours.

I’ll mow a swathe, though my heart be sad for all my friends who line the path.

Gasping, breaking, hurting still, they weakly grimace as I pass,

I may soon join them, but I still swear—I’ll die with those Colours in my hand.

In my own camp! Amongst our own! Above my very neighbor’s tent!

You say you’re ours, but fly a flag that ought never to be set.

My God and General fights for me, and He will give me strength

My honour to defend, and His glory forth to seek, for a victory no other’s.

I may be simple, I may be meek, but I’m going to take those Colours.

Faster, E'en Faster

“The Flying Scotsman” in ’24 did stun the world and serve his Lord;

He stood for what he felt was right, and suffered scorn amidst his fight,

And alone he stood on honour.

They asked him “why, what drives you son? On Sabbath-day to refuse to run?

Why would you give up medals gold to satisfy suspicions old,

and deprive your home of glory?”

“You’re a sprinter through and through, the 400 has no place for you,

You can’nae win, even if you try. You’ll kill yourself and we won’t cry,

You’ll go home without your honour.”

He didn’t shout, or raise his voice, for clearly he had made his choice,

To abandon hopes for what he thought was his best chance at glory,

All to keep the Sabbath holy.

The pistol barked, the tape was cleared, the Flying Scotsman did appear

At head of line—before the pack—a new world record, it set them back!

And the crowd did give a mighty roar.

“How,” they asked, “how did you run—so hard and fast a sprinter’s run—

and still have any strength at all to go the distance at the end?

We all know you’re done-in.”

“I ran as fast as e’er I could,” he answered in a soft Scot’s brogue,

“the half that’s mine to first unfold, and asked the Lord to run the rest,

E’en faster, faster yet.”

He gave up fame, not once but twice, and left His home for foreign lights,

To teach a school to little boys in Tientsin-town, down China-way,

He taught them about the Lord.

Lord I’ve run as fast as I, upon these feeble legs can fly,

I gave my all, and did again, and my half is fast approaching.

Let me run faster, e’en faster.

The Heavenly Mirror

When I lay upon my bed,

And close my eyes, and rest my head,

Reflecting now, I pause to think,

Of things I do and things I speak.

As plainly as a mirror I see,

All the things I hate in me,

Pride and anger, sin and doubt,

In my life, they are throughout.

I turn my eyes unto your face,

And back upon my earthly ways.

No more will my feet travel there,

In that valley of despair.

Instead I go the path of him,

Who cleansed my heart from every sin.

Unto his holy land I go,

Where milk and honey are sure to flow.

And now within my heart this tune;

“Come swiftly Lord, oh please come soon”.

On this trip, and on my journey,

I won’t succumb to fear or worry.

And suddenly, my mirror is gone.

The night is past, here comes the dawn!

Another day, another test.

Until again, my head I rest.

-April 2000

A Hymn of Redemption

Like Bard of old, a song I sing, as ancient as the earth,

For troubled times and worried minds, enduring lifeless dearth.

Man was made from dirt of earth, to dirt he will return;

No hope or light in Adam’s curse for souls destined to burn.

But Elohim conceived a plan, in Eden’s paradise lost

To turn again the hearts to him of those who count the cost

A Son, A Lamb, A Warrior Great came unto earth and suffered much

Though a King, a throne was not for what His search was wont

A soul! A soul! Was it for mine, that he did die and bleed?

My soul in chains and darkly stained, should never have been freed.

For souls he came—for souls he died, but that was not the end.

For though a grave did him contain he surely rose again.

We all partake of Adam’s curse, to toil and work the land,

And cannot share in God’s great love with pure and unscarred hands.

All men are lovers of themselves, and not lovers of God,

None exempted from the plight of those who walk this sod.

Temptations from the Liar’s throat, more fiery than a brand,

Suffer all of human birth to sift their souls to sand.

But Elohim provides a way for men to come to Him,

To leave a life of present strife and break the curse of sin.

Every man will have a choice, a decision to recall,

To give his all to God above, or slink to Satan’s call.

Will words of Faith bestir your heart, a light to guide your way?

Or will the tune of terror’s call melt your heart away?

 

-May 2009

The Descision

Art Thou a Minstrel, or a Bard? Dost thou know one from the other?

Of whimsy songs and lyrics play, or tear the soul asunder?

For one will lightly spread his noise, to all who will permit  him;

The other, quite unpopular, sings the songs that save him.

The first will harp quite merrily, and never ask the cost.

The last will sometimes mourn a dirge for those that he sees lost.

“Happiness and bliss” croons one, softly like a dove;

the other intones lasting peace, contentment from above

Will you tell tales of heart and valor? Let heav’nly mysteries trickle?

Or will you clatter inane matter and spew a flippant drivel?

As darkly through a glass we view and things are not that plain

They’ll be revealed to those He’s sealed, though patience may be strained

Prophetic words and Parables, riddles from the Lord

Come to those who serve the light, the sons unto him born.

Like salt upon the open wound, his words may sting to cleanse,

But they are balm unto the ones repentant of their sin.

Art thou a Squire or a Knave? Can you tell me proper?

Will suffering and trial yield a Knight, or just a pauper?

For nobility is bred in those redeemed by holy sword

And even those of lowly birth may call upon the Lord.

Behold the Bard! Behold the Knight! They love the Savior’s voice.

For when man heeds his maker’s plan the Angels do rejoice.

Man was made to walk with God by Faith and not by sight

For human strength is not enough for us for to win this fight.

Of heaven won, and heaven scorned, should our words impart.

For Sheol’s pit is not reserved for those of holy heart.

The ardent query—the decision grand—is as its always  been

Thou alone art giv’n cause to choose right or sin

Will you righteousness uphold, A warrior-poet be?

Or settle in a lowly state for all eternity?

Minstrel or Bard or Knight or Knave thy path thou must align.

But care to choose it wisely, or I fear thou waste thy time

 -May 2009

Hinc Mihi Salus!

A battle cry I now resound—as loudly as I can, it’s true—

As once my father’s did before, the only Latin they likely knew.

Better than they might have known, I know from where Salvation comes;

For I do know the heart of Him, who set the stars and rising sun.

“Nobile Servitum!” Others cried, the members of the Clan,

Pledging selves to God and Chief, their King and fellow man.

They beat their shields with vigor yet unrivaled by the mob,

And though I’m weak, I still do seek that rhythm forth to throb.

In times of trouble, I gladly seek to know His face and testify.

And when Satan grasps the upper hand, brashly will I amplify

The cry so earnest, from the Heart—and yet with Warrior’s steel resolv’d—

To serve the Lord with all my might, regardless of my problems solved.

But hush, I hear Him in the night, calling softly—speaking low;

“My son, hold on a little more; just stand, I’ve ever told you so.”

I’ll stand and fight, and hold my ground, though fiery arrows ‘bout me loom.

I’ll stand and shout that battle cry, for it will never be my doom.

Down, Down, Down

Like some cruel trick that nature plays,

My hopes and dreams, they are all raised,

Tantalizing, within reach,

As the carpet’s pulled beneath my feet,

And I do fall unto the breach--down, down, down.

At Edge of cliff I see them fall,

Higher still than Moher’s walls

I see them racing to their doom

Upon the rocks they’ll be consumed,

And they spiral ever further--down, down, down.

My hopes and dreams are sorely dashed

And, truly, I am quite abashed.

I dare not groan a single sound,

For fear you’ll hear the dreadful pound

My heart does make as it tumbles--down, down, down.

And yet, still again they rise,

The ever forward, onward prize.

Dreams and visions rare and true;

The things I’ll ever hold onto,

When once I grasp and carry with me—down, down, down.

A Sword and a Cause.

To have a sword and have a cause,

To feel your heart inflamed with wrath

And yet stand helpless as evil is committed

My sword remains in its sheath, my dagger on my hip

I stand down at the commander’s call

Though I long to join the fray.

My friends are dying,

Comrades, partners, brothers in arms

They all fall prey to the massive slaughter

Why must I wait? Why can I not fight?

I long to fall or rise with those that I love

To my heart I must be true.

And yet, I must wait, the battle must be won.

I hope the cost is not too dear,

or that in the end, I have suffered for naught.

Restlessness

I’ve Always walked my road alone, none other walks my way.

I step and slog, and run and trod, along this barren way.

The reason for this journey I have not yet divined,

But as God leads, and as He creeds, I walk the path that’s mine.

These hands were made to serve the Lord, and cater to the ones

Placed in the path I do now tread, the path I do now run.

I walk this path and serve the mass in any way I can,

But though I’m strong, I falter some in this forsaken land.

The Prophet’s Cry I cry aloud “Oh Lord, must it be me?”

But he reminds me of his love, the love that set me free.

I walk, I slog, I trot, I tread, upon the Journey long,

I cannot help but ask of him direction in the throng.

I walk my way, and do his will, and fellowship with him,

And He relieves and strengthens me, and forgets my every sin.

Yet though the Lord be ever there, so lonely I still am.

For though I am his servant, am I not a mortal man?

God spoke himself, “no good is it, for man to be alone.

I’ll fashion him a helper, someone of his very own.”

On that great and historic day that creation finalized,

God’s greatest work was shown to man, with large and awe-struck eyes.

 My God, you said that you intend to bless,

Prosper, keep and never harm with your divine caress.

Please hear my plea—attend my soul;

Cure my heart from restlessness.

Fly with Me

Like a young eagle or fledgling hawk,

I beat my wings and try to fly;

Though they long ago were clipped,

And peril warns me that I’ll die.

My feathers, they have all grown back—

A new hope burns down deep inside;

Over edge of cliff I plunge,

And shout aloud a battle cry!

Seeking for that place to soar;

Thermal layer, high above.

Gliding in the winds of grace,

Soaring on God’s wings of love.

Would you, dare you, beat yours too?

Would you, dare you, fly with me?

Your wings, you’ve had them all along,

And God can mend them beautifully.

Abandon fears, give way your doubts;

The spirit leads us ever on.

Join me in the morning sky,

And fly unto the rising sun.

Would you, dare you, beat yours too?

Would you, dare you, fly with me?

A Psalm in times of need

Must my heart be broken and fallen from its perch

Before You will move, Oh Lord?

Must I be beyond tears and moved with all sorrow

Before You raise Your mighty hand to act?

You know how I love You, Oh Lord; how I have lived and longed

Your precepts to follow.

My Lord, look around me at the devastation in my path,

Pay heed unto those in need around me.

My will is powerless, my strength has gone.

I do not even rise or desire to eat—my stomach turns itself within me!

My heart has failed for weakness and despair.

You are the Lord! Come to my rescue!

From whence does my salvation come?

It comes from the Lord, Who has seen my noble service;

He rescues me from the Pit, from Sheol’s  very mouth,

He sees those needs around me and brings forth His redemption.

Faithful, true, mighty to save, my God is able to deliver me.

His breath will blow down the doors before us,

And no man may shut them again.

Oh, who may move before the Holy one of Isreal?

The Poet's Soul

From beauty and pain it’s often born;

With those that laugh, with those that mourn.

It builds deep within the chest,

And makes the soul feel quite restless.

Though you mock the pain and sorrow,

Or sentiment at beauty great,

Still he writes upon the morrow,

And longings of his soul does sate.

Long it’s been that I have kept,

The reflections deep inside of me.

I did not speak a single word,

For fear of other’s mockery.

But not unlike the prophets old,

It burns harshly, deeply, down within.

My shell does crack, and out it comes,

Though I have fought to keep it in.

A portrait on a landscape fair,

A thought bestirred in morning air,

A feeling one cannot describe,

A song that’s sung, quite deep inside.

A curse, or a gift, is the question I pose;

For often times it seems as both.

The glass, it is neither half-empty or full;

The range of emotion makes one feel as a fool.

But blessing or curse, it matters not which,

For to some it’s a struggle a whole life to spend.

Of Courage and Laughter, and Sadness, and Pain;

These things are what the Soul of a Poet is made.

Now, For Someday

Someday I will have a car that

Looks good and won’t breakdown

Every other weekend.

I’ll have an Airplane and fly,

High through the Sky with

The Birds of the air.

I’ll stare out the window of my study;

A grand vista exploding with the rising sun

As I sit and sip my steaming tea.

Someday I will gaze below at sands of foreign lands as I

Bring help to those who need your love

And glorify you as I fly

I’ll preach to crowds and to the few who’ll listen to

Your words of love and sacrifice

You taught me in the land of Ice.

I’ll relate the lessons which my heart has harshly striven to

Learn so well, and struggled much

My Savior’s will to try to do.

Someday I’ll stare into the eyes of the one who

completes me as we share our first kiss,

the thing that I have kept for her alone.

I’ll wake to the sound of running feet and see

My sons as they leap and tackle me,

Flying into arms of love.

By the fireside we’ll sit and stare into

The melty, messy, marshmallow goo.

Memories we’ll hold onto.

Someday it will come to pass within the perfect realm of

God’s timing great which He alone

Holds the key to the end of days.

Now I wait upon His words revealed, slowly and

Often somewhat blurred—as if reading in a mirror—

Though always more than what I’d thought at first.

Now I lean upon His name, and

Promises so faithful, true. Waiting as the Lord commands and

Still I wait, now, for Someday.

The Inner Beauty

At the Mirror, what do you see?

In Morning’s light, what can that be?

You fuss and fool with every hair,

To keep your looks so fine and fair?

But beauty in itself will fade,

And shining hair will turn to grey.

Your looks, your health, your age, your song,

These things may not last too long.

If a Boy will not look past

The outer shell that will not last,

Then he is not worth your time,

He will not love you past your prime.

Look instead unto a man,

Who sees the thing you really have.

The inner beauty, rare and fine;

Eternal soul that God designed.

Desperation

I languish in a prison cell, not wrought with iron bars,

But one of my own making and one built by my scars.

I call but no one answers, I cry but hearken not

The things I wish that I could hear, the things that I have sought.

Lies have I been told, and all my life believed,

That others truly care is now obscenity to me.

Realize you how trite they ring, the words you have supplied?

Though meant for help, a reverse effect have they all applied.

Wandering, Waiting, working still, I toil and move on;

Though I sow and tend the field, harvest yet I have not drawn.

Others always seem to reap, despite their lack of toil;

If life is like the fertile ground, then mine is rocky soil.

But in my anguish and despair, I hear the voice of one

Vibrant in the dreary air, bringing peace unto His son.

If contentment’s what You ask of me, then I will bide and wait

Placing trust in You alone, not some illusive fate.

Lonely have I ever been, and in desperation called,

But You reached out Your hand to me, and to You I am drawn.

Awaiting now Your timing, I soak myself in You,

Desperate no longer, save for my time with You.

Just around the bend

Your love is like a melody that calms my heart each day,
and stills my heart from crying, at life's great frothy fray.
Despair and doubt, they cloud my mind, and veil You from my sight,
but softly calling out my name, I hear You in the night.

How I try to remember, oh how easy to forget,
the life that You have given, You are giving longer yet.
My worries seem so simple, when stacked by Your great pains,
they're no longer grand old mountains, precipitous peaks unscathed.

A single set of tracks I see, upon that mountain top,
it shows You've been ahead of me, and warns me not to stop.
My valleys and my peaks I've seen, but this is not the end,
the journey's ever greater still, waiting just around the bend.

The Beginning of Song

A Song in my head, and a song in my heart,
I'll bring them to you, if only in part.
Part whimsey, part learning, part joyful, part sad,
when you read what's been written, you'll be glad that you had!

Would that we watched as the song did unfold
for the very first time in the days of the Old.
When the very first man and his new wife-to-be,
sat close and hummed soft, the first melody.

What a journey to be able to travel through time,
and watch as was writ, the first nursery rhyme.
though poets and writers, they do come and go,
still unto the cradle recite what we know.

My prayer for these pages is that you will find
a new love for living the path that unwinds.
my mind is the canvas, my heart is the pen,
so thus let our voyage together begin!