"Woe"

(Composed in contemplation of
Isaiah 39 in late July 2010).

"It is good news!" declared he.
Many years would safely be
Comfortable in his wanton haze,
'Peace and security in my days.'

Woe to the foolish, selfish king;
Wealth to the winds he did fling!

Rich heritage he threw away;
His own sons he did betray:
Plundered land, dispossessed;
Exiled and harshly oppressed!

Woe to me who would lazily lounge
Forcing others to desperately scrounge!

Seeking comfort, preferring ease,
My fleshly pleasures to appease,
Merely the status quo to maintain,
Ever overlooking others' pain?

Woe to us all if so become we;
I pray, O Lord, may it never be!

"See"

(Inspired by the words of Isaiah
The prophet on July 7, 2010).

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Stumbling through the curtain,
Clothes torn and covered in ash,
Words echoing in my head:
Who are you?
Why would God care?
You are nothing.
You are alone.
No one sees.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Tears streaming the paper tumbles
Out of my hand and to the floor.
Head bowed low, I bend my knee:
I am a child of the King.
God does care for me.
I am precious in His sight.
I will never be alone.
God sees all.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Shouting my prayer to the heavens,
Exhausted, now barely whispering,
Slowly the weight begins to lift,
Gentle peace descends as a dove.
The oppressive haze starts to fade,
Evaporating in the presence of
Light eternal and Love divine.

"Reaching to the neck"

(A reflection on Isaiah 8,
Composed February 28, 2010).

Strolling beside gentle stream
Relaxing grassy banks
Warmth of sunshine overhead
Cricket humming thanks

Peal of thunder jolts the air
Electric tensions blaze
Oppressive clouds furiously race
Sky stained inky haze

Rain pours, pelting face
River rushing flood
Running, seeking higher ground
Plunged into mud

Murky water to the knee
Rising tides wreck
Waist, chest, shoulder deep
Reaching to the neck

Treading water 'neath the rush
Gasping for the air
Darkness below, black above
Dizzy, tumbling scare

No branches lend their aid
Nor smooth shore
No lifeboats or rescuers come
Nor stroke of oar

Weary, losing any strength
Torrential stirring
Merciless rain choking breath
All vision blurring

Aching with no end in sight
Branches entangle
Complete, utter despondency
Suffocate, strangle

Closing in as the blade
Guillotine gleaming
When tapestry torn asunder
Brilliance streaming

Amidst the storm, clouds part
Veil's lifted
Glorious beams of light
Radiance gifted

Stars above, soul below
Heavens illuminate
Resplendent hope arrayed
Never comes too late

Reflecting off the very waters
That would drown
Now become heaven's mirror
Everlasting renown

"The God who speaks"

(Composed in the light of Isaiah 6 and Psalm 115,
On the morning of January 26, 2010).

Crudely carved block of wood,
Lump of blackened stone,
Sun-baked ceramic figurine,
Fragment of broken bone,

Behind museum glass they sit
Beneath fluorescent light;
Permanent exhibit they form,
Here each day and night.

Artifacts of ancient lands,
Revered as gods were they,
Now people pass, children laugh
In line for the café.

Their little ears hear no sound,
Eyes unable to see;
Their lips cannot form a word,
Nor answer an urgent plea.

Praise the Lord who hears our prayers;
He listens to our cries!
Rejoice! Jehovah sees our needs
And graciously provides!

Sing for joy all ye earth
For ours is the God who speaks,
Transforming hearts, changing lives
Of anyone who seeks!