Category Archives: Poetry

Justice, justice, all cry for justice!

crying-eye

Justice, justice, all cry for justice,
One child takes another child’s toy,
Not fair, not fair all cry not fair!
 
Father beats his child,
Child hides in closet,
Why me, why me, all cry why me!
 
She does all the work,
He gets all the credit,
Not right, not right, all cry not right!
 
The rich get richer,
The poor get poorer,
Corrupt, corrupt, all cry corrupt!
 
Politicians steal and take bribes,
The citizens suffer,
Foul play, foul play, all cry foul play!
 
Nation rages against nation,
Gang clashes with gang,
Violence, violence, all cry violence
 
Mom lies in bed, gasping and shivering,
Tears streaming down he watches her die,
Why God, why God, all cry why God!
 
Creation groans, creation waits,
As injustice increases, all cry to Him,
Return, Return, ALL CRY RETURN!
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“As Thousands of Burning Ones Sing a New Song”

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Amble through the city and say what you saw,
But to dwell here forever is where you belong,
As thousands of Burning Ones sing a new song.
 
Awesome and great is the beautiful city,
But at her citizen’s who could pity,
Amble through the city and say what you saw.
 
At her beauty, the nations would desire,
Beholding her walls made of fire,
As thousands of Burning Ones sing a new song.
 
Among the Perfection of Beauty all stand in awe,
Before the throne all will fall,
Amble through the city and say what you saw.
 
Ancient of Days is all I saw,
Beholding Him I could find no flaw.
As thousands of Burning Ones sing a new song.
 
An appearance as a jasper and sardius stone,
Bearing eyes like fire, was He who sat on the throne,
Amble through the city and say what you saw.
 
Among the great throng, I will join in the song,
Beholding Glory on the sea of glass is where I belong,
Amble through the city and say what you saw,
As thousands of Burning Ones sing a new song.

Inspired by the Holy Spirit, through the book of Revelation and the song “Thousands of Burning Ones” by N. Christopherson.

A Root Out of Dry Ground Destined for Greatness

As a tender shoot you grew,

But your destiny He alone knew,

A root out of dry ground destined for greatness.

 

A seed planted for life,

Bringing an end to all strife,

A means to an end you became.

 

An appearance that one might ignore,

Beautiful was the humility that you bore,

A root out of dry ground destined for greatness.

 

As a branch you were cut off from the land of the living,

But through your death you were still giving,

A means to an end you became.

 

Attempting to break you with nails,

But still you did not fail,

A root out of dry ground destined for greatness.

 

As such a time as this you were raised,

Bearing the root of Jesse we stand amazed,

A means to an end you became,

A root out of dry ground destined for greatness.

O’ Little Town of Bethlehem We Do Not Know Thee (The Great Paradox)

O’ Little Town of Bethlehem We Do Not Know Thee
The Great Paradox
While kings boasted of their greatness,
The Word of God declared of His lowliness through each whimper and cry.
As rulers jockeyed for position in Rome,
The King came in obscurity.
O’ little town of Bethlehem we do not know thee.
 
While rulers sought their palaces,
One whose goings forth was from everlasting to everlasting dwelt in a manger.
As Caesar lay on his bed,
YHWH lay in a feeding trough.
O’ little town of Bethlehem we do not know thee. 
 
While the watchmen made their rounds,
The shepherds were found ready.
As the priests sought the Word of the Lord,
The shepherds could hear it in the whimpering of a babe.
O’ little town of Bethlehem we do not know thee. 
 
O’ little town of Bethlehem we do not know thee.
As the religious leaders looked to Jerusalem,
Heaven look to you.
 
For He who sets the seraphim ablaze,
Now shivers underneath the cool breeze of night.
He who wrapped Himself in unapproachable light,
Is now wrapped in swaddling clothes.
He who sits enthroned on high and laughs,
Has become a babe lying in a feeding trough crying.
He whom all of heaven gazes upon crying “Holy”,
Is now the object of the animal’s gaze.
O’ little town of Bethlehem we do not know thee.
 
For on this day, the Potter has become dependent upon the clay
The One who was there at creation as a master craftsman,
Has become a child now dependent upon His own creation.
O’ little town of Bethlehem we do not know thee.