Monday, April 04, 2005

Across the barren land in march

tree, stick of frail arm and swollen rusty digits
standing, a mourner amid the dead
musty forest floor, littered, brittle leaves
curled like empty cocoons
field, sucked dry, cracked in angling lines,
pits where blood of grass and grain
seeped away, leaving behind the
withered blades, bent and broken
pond, ripple free, all life
sleeps, forgotten, in Sheol

and in three days,

a reverie of sound, wind chimes,
beneath my window alert me
the spirit is moving, blowing,
God’s Marching Wind,


Spirit of resurrection

the fierce Grace of Him
who is not dead
awakens His creation
to live again

No comments: