storm rising

Parched and dry,

Drowning in drought,

Despair encircling,

A shadow hovers over my soul.

I feel the breath stolen from me,

My faith, it withers in the dust,

And darkness tightens my bones.

Early Sunday morning.

A rumble in the ground,

A ripple through the leaves,

A whisper in the breeze ....

Can you hear it?

The ground shakes,

The curtain rips,

The stone groans,

A woman gasps.

I can hear it in the wind,

The breaking of a cynic,

The turning of a heart.

While the Liar taunts,

"See, the destruction I have wrought."

Still, your Spirit moves,

Making flesh from stone,

Life from lifelessness.

Incline Your ear, hear our prayer ....

The breath that breathes anew,

The storm to flood my desert,

From the deep that calls unto deep,

Rise up within and speak.

Call forth the lifeless,

The dry bones to dance.

Awaken our spirits.

Come O Lord, and move us.

sč

KL, April 18th, 2007

between the dates

Sometimes I walk,
Sometimes I run.
Sometimes I stumble and fall,
Other times I climb and crawl.

Sometimes the path is smooth,
Sometimes it's straight.
Sometimes it's winding,
Other times it's rough and stony.

Sometimes a company of good cheer,
Sometimes a strong arm, a pat on the back.
Sometimes I trudge in silence,
Other times a wound to my side is all I feel.

You looked up and ahead when all feared the rear,
You were white and true in a sea of yellow.
Your name is known for the race you ran to gold,
But your life was great for its witness to grace.

What will be my race's sum at the final line?
The dash between the dates.

Inspired by E.H. Liddell

sč
KL, April 7th, 2007