Truth Seeker
  Nothing He Has Left Me
 

Nothing He Has Left Me

 

As a prisoner of His I roam around

         While His name I shout about.

 

In chains wrought of responsibility and love of beast, I languish.

         To the cell wall of pennilessness, they impale me.

 

Among my brothers I walk about invisible,

They see me not.

 

His holy utterings, I savor in my heart,

         Taste with the tongue of my mind Life they promise.

 

Forgiveness, they spew forth with power

         From the right hand of God — like a young river.

 

Damnation haunts the river’s desert banks

The Lion eats the ones that stray from life’s water.

 

In my human flesh, the mineral of suffering,

The waters rip their way in flash floods.

 

I call, and He answers

         Much help has been extended to the Worm.

 

I beg, and Silence Screams,

         You must accept your cross or die!

 

Christ’s torture stake, the privilege of suffering for Christ,

         Is yours — For this you were elected and destined.

 

The lake of Suffering

         Must be filled in the country of your being.

 

The Great Refiner accepts nothing but Gold

         His fire of anguish must be endured till purification is reached.

 

Tears though counted, though stored in His sack,

         Melts not His heart

 

The wolf of insanity lurks about.

         In the forest of my mind, it stalks the Christ of my heart.

 

When the tempest of my being, a typhoon becomes,

Packs of wolves pursue innocence and righteousness.

 

Wickedness shakes the Earth

         Prayer, barely soothes the Sky

 

The powers that exist,

         Like otherworldly beings, clash — the World shakes.

 

Once again, wickedness returns to its Pandora’s box.

The heart of Christ conquers temporarily once again.

 

But, Pandora’s lock is old and rotten.

         When will the convict escape for good?

 

Domination has been removed.

         Oppression, sucking in of one’s breath, is my bread.

 

Like when in frigid waters, one relaxes to deaden senses.

         Like that, unceasing anguish rushes in from an insane world -

                relax to deaden the senses

        near and far, ever increasing pressures build  

                relax to deaden the senses

 

But “where there are no cattle, the manger is clean,”

         And for a great many years, she has been a beast of burden

           and a burden of a Beast.

 

One flesh the two became.  “Head is the man” and “he who loves his wife loves himself.” 

         “Subjected to the husband is the wife as the congregation to Christ.” 

        So the Word commands.

 

Never, ever ever

    will I accept this yoke once again after it has been removed from off my back.

         But in my weird life, Jehovah leaves me with honey cakes, butter, and vanilla. 

 

Among strangers who speak with the tongues of foreigners, I cling to life.

         A generation here, and still their books, their writing, their intimacy unintelligible and unreachable are.

 

My father, my mother, family, uncles, aunts, and cousins

         Far away in land, in mind, and in time they are.

 

A lifetime gone, to most whom I knew

         Like a dead one, I am become.

 

In the congregation,

The status of an object bizarre is mine.

The brothers of one of little means hate him all.

        He pursues with things to say,    **Pseudo Bible quote**

         No more they crave it, no more do they inquire.

 

Children of gold, and ivory,

         Ebony, copper, and brass I was given

 

A light in my heart, they are —

         Chasers of an evil heart, providers of joy,

 

Makers of dung, wood and pulp eaters too,

         But cheery and happy, always — so are they.

 

A wicked heart, a jittery heart, they soothe.

         Oil on turbulent waters is what they are.

 

Life they protect.

         Great joy, and the ropes of responsibility, they give.

 

Hope there is, but how far?

         How long the road has been; it seems endless.

 

Will Christ and His God provide help?

         Before it is too late?

 

Woe is this heart of little faith.

         Who still sees his daily food and blessings do enjoy.

 

Faithful provisions, necessary things

         Ever have not lacked ever.

 

 
  There have been 97731 visitors (212267 hits) on this HP!  
 
This website was created for free with Own-Free-Website.com. Would you also like to have your own website?
Sign up for free