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Poems

Precious Guest
The Call
A New Creation
Fear of Man
The Unsearchable Ways of God
The Desert
Humility
War Games
Grabbing
City Dwellers
Evolution – A Poem of Tact, Diplomacy, and Gentle Persuasion
Abortion
The Specter of Fear
Atheists Cry
Judging
The Rest of God
We Are Branches, We Are One
The Wild
Have You Any Idea?
Desolation
Uncertainty
Resilience
Eggs
Money
All You Religious
The Sword
Delay
Bellyache, Bellyache
Friend, Are You?
Pioneers
Ode to a Harlot
The Higher Plane
Water Does Not Always Find the Lowest Level
The Chameleon
The Frenzy of Life
The Twice Dead
The Child of Evil
Terrible Good
Truth
The Vices’ Voices
A Sunset Seen
Help in Disguise
Help
Rools Four Inglish Spelling
I See a Boy
The Fire of God
Mystery
Immaturity
Periphery
God Reigns Supreme
Alone
Emptiness Within
I, The Wealthy Outcast
Day of Jubilee
My Boy
Come with Me
Two Adams
Bitterness
Stoning the Mirror

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Atheists Cry
Until the believer is perfected, there remains some atheist in him. He says he believes, but in the final analysis, his fruits tell otherwise, quite. We worry, doubt, or fear because we don’t believe. Examining ourselves in the Light, we discover the truth about ourselves. That Light’s source is the fire that serves to purge us of the atheist within, that fire being an enemy at first, and a friend in the end. How will I know I can stand the fire Unless I am subjected? How do I develop muscle to do heavy work Unless I do heavy work to develop muscle? How do I form calluses on my hands to prevent blisters Unless I do those things That make blisters? I say I have faith to do anything, To suffer all things and smile, even laugh But how do I get that faith Unless I suffer the very things To produce the faith To laugh at the things concerning which I say I have faith? How can I cry and say, “I believe”? But when I believe, I shall not cry When the fires come Because the fires have done their work. Lethbridge, August, 1984
Emptiness Within
English - Chinese Often and for long periods of time does God hide Himself from His called one, even as He did with all the saints and prophets of old and to the present. We desire so much to walk by sight, as in this world, but must learn to walk by faith, by the little given knowledge of the unknown, the Unknown, that we may know Him. And though He hides Himself to try us, He is always there...there is nowhere one can go from His presence. Yet one can choose to do so, and the one choosing so is not called. Emptiness is not a bad sign in itself as one might suppose.   I am ill with sorrow and grief, Vexation and loneliness; My soul is filled with groanings and longings; I look in all directions; I reach out; My hand returns empty; Tears fill my soul; I cry and cry and cry; There is no one to comfort, to console, to ease my pain.   Day after day, year after year, Decade after decade, I wait, I long, I cry, I heave and sigh. There is none to understand. I wait for morning; I wait for evening; I am desolate. I eat, I sleep, I cry... Is it sin I say I don't have That causes me to be this way - Desperate, sad, lonely, unfulfilled, Useless, despised, unwanted? This is not the abundant life; Though I have my carnal needs met And freedom to come and go, Yet I have nowhere to come and nowhere to go. All is quiet, uneventful, drab and grey. Do I complain Or do I merely state the way things are For those appointed to such by Divine order, N...
Help
We are all in need of help. But is it the noun or the verb we need?   Woe is me! How can this be? Where is that help I have sought? Nothing but wretched know-it-alls Come to disturb my thought - and my peace.   Peace? What peace? What am I saying? Who am I trying to kid? If this is peace then give me war And I shall rest and sleep and snore.   Time passed on and matters grew worse. I soon lost all that I had. My friends had gone their merry old ways, My family too was gone. My business failed, uncertainty prevailed; I slowly began to wrestle with myself For a change.   What's this? A knock? A tiny knock? I haven't had a knock since that beggar came by! I wonder who it might be? Eh? A whimper? A sniffing? A sobbing? More trouble! Add fuel to the fire! Is there no rest for the wicked?!   I opened the door and there stood a boy, One hand over his eyes and one on his knee, From where trickled blood to my doorstep! Sir! the lad cried with tear-stained face, I stumbled and fell just in front of your place. I have nobody to help me. Are you a doctor or someone to bind my wound?   Angered at first at the gory mess, I nearly chased him away. But though I knew I was only a laborer, He had flattered me with his question.   Fancy me a doctor!? “Lad, you have saved your knee,” I thought. “Oh, very well, come in, come in. We'll see what to do with your wound.”   I bound up his leg and sent him away, Not...
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