I see my lack of holiness
When I observe my heart.
It shows a certain homeliness:
Tis stained in ev’ry part.
I long to live in purity,
Yet clearly not enough;
For sin remains a surety.
Temptation calls my bluff.
Thus I take up these robes of white;
I drag them through the dirt.
I pledged my life to perfect light,
Yet still pursue my hurt.
Oh pardon me this parody,
This purposeless pursuit.
Enable me to fully be
A son who bears good fruit.
May all who hear my story find
Your mark of perfect love,
And use me, Father, to remind
Them of your land above.
The gospel is the poetry of truth,
For in it love and beauty condescend
From heav’n above to take the form of youth:
A righteous life to cover those who sinned.
Redemption’s plan was fixed before the fall.
The father, through his prophets, has foretold
The coming of the king who sounds the call
To all who under sin and death are sold.
Twas at the proper time and proper place
The son himself engaged man’s greatest foe,
And by his death the dead were made alive.
Alive again, the word of love and grace
Inaugurates his kingdom here below,
And all who know him evermore shall thrive.
Stained with sin but for your grace, I
Long to look upon your face. Thy
Never-failing word commands my
Failing heart to focus. Faith is
Crying, “Father, stoke us. Take this
Weakened will in your hands.” Of his
Life and death and life again, I
Sing, a breath midst strife and sin. Thy
Son resplendent understands my
War with this temptation. Such is
Life till death’s cessation. In this
Hope my salvaged soul stands, all his.
Do we then dare to look within
These hearts inhabited by sin
That we, by looking well, might win
Our lives from this dark gamble?
Or is the truth too much to take
For all the ways it makes us shake
When bones and promises do break
And lives are seen in shambles?
For when we peer behind the screen,
And our reality is seen,
We cannot claim that we are clean
But must confess conviction.
We spurned the fountainhead above
And killed the son who came in love.
Our hands still bear his blood like gloves.
Our innocence is fiction.
We dare not let ourselves believe
That we could e’er our sins retrieve.
Christ’s righteousness we must receive
If we would walk in freedom.
So take no chances with this life
By gambling yours ‘gainst certain strife.
Embrace the Word, the surgeon’s knife,
And leave the liar’s kingdom.
The Tempter set before the man a game.
“Three tries to name your greatest enemy.
If you succeed, this lion will be tame,
But if you fail, you never will be free.”
The man thought for a moment then agreed.
“You are a devil, sir, and most unwise,
So I will take advantage and be freed.”
From lips which grinned, the devil said, “Two tries.”
Taken aback, the man said, “Satan, then.”
And Satan, snickering, said, “Last attempt.”
“Then Lucifer I name thee, lord of sin!”
“Then you, sir, from sin’s rule are not exempt.”
This captive man will have to face God’s thresh
Unless he will perceive his guilty flesh.
A boy who died when I was just a boy
Has haunted me up to this very day.
His ghost I fear I never will destroy;
His face I fear will never fade away.
With breathless voice, he whispers in my ear.
With sightless eyes, he stares into my soul.
With ev’ry step I take, I see him sneer
With devilish desire to take control.
But victory for him would mean my doom,
For he would see me suffering in hell.
Though safe am I by truth of empty tomb,
The specter whispers still, “All is not well.”
I am until my final breath a host
Ever departing from him, my own ghost.
Have you ever had the same illness so often that you learned to recognize it even from the earliest signs? Continue reading
Layers upon layers of
Links to pages where eyes shouldn’t look,
Every one doubling as
Pieces of a chain with an eternal hook.
Line after line of text,
Every word weighted with wrath
Floating like feathers,
Fixing themselves in the mind like
Phantoms: Thoughts that haunt
And never seem to die.
Unwanted glimpses of
Skin not yours to touch,
Lips not yours to taste,
Rights not yours to take.
Unwelcome houseguest, unsought snake,
Sneaking around so silently
At times you
Might believe yourself to be free,
Might forget the enemy,
Right in the wrong place,
Left unguarded against the trap.
Temptation’s plague upon the mind,
Meant to mar souls, to murder men and women.
Masked and manic.
How many more must you take?
If you, O church, could only see
The sin that hides inside of me,
Would you maintain that I am free?
That Jesus is my hope and plea?
Would not “Pariah” be my name?
And would you not seek to defame?
And posit me with damning blame,
Though flesh afflicts us all the same?
For all have fallen short of this,
We all take part in Judas’ kiss
And ev’ry man has gone amiss
In search of sin’s mirage of bliss.
But you, O Lord, do truly see
The sin that hides inside of me,
Yet still you heard this sinner’s plea,
And still you came to make men free.
We dare not trifle with the Lord of hosts.