Poets

The poets worshiped you through verse and rhyme,
Turned their imaginations to the task
Of translating eternity to time
That image bearers might be brought to bask
In light refracted through a humble lens,
Refracted so to share a diff’rent view
Of beauty. Souls in wonder took up pens
And wrote to cultivate their love of you.
One wonders if the words will ever cease,
If all might soon be said, each rhyme fulfilled.
But throes of life persist, and words bring peace,
So movement of the quills will not be stilled.
Rise up, you poets, scribes of humble soul,
To teach and train us better to extol.


Photo by Lukasz Szmigiel on Unsplash

Advent

joanna-kosinska-413611-unsplash

The proem to the poem of humanity
Was set against the backdrop of captivity,
Was cast with souls encumbered by profanity,
Was opened not with pomp but with nativity.
The word, the light, the lion-lamb, the majesty
Of heaven, holiness in his humility,
Appeared in righteousness to end the amnesty
And fix final salvation from futility.

The method of his advent seemed absurdity
To those who thought they knew the king’s priority,
Yet as the virgin held mortal eternity,
The world beheld the hope of our infirmity.

And all the damned ones shuddered as the surety
Of justice came in love to face depravity,
To bear the curse of sin and give security
That God will satisfy creation’s cavity.
So hope. His coming heralds a community
Where sin will not be suffered – there immunity
From falling from his presence. Perfect unity
Of love will lead to worship of triunity.


Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash