Poems

The Fire of God
The man of darkness, the carnal man in each one of us, scarcely realizes the implications of his stance and opposition to his Creator. He does not recognize the futility, much less the harm he does himself in what he considers to be his right or privilege to freedom of expression according to his understanding. Least of all does he recognize the Lord coming as a thief to him in order to deliver or judge.   The fire rages and Nothing stands in its way... The all consuming fire of God: Who can bear it?   A fearful and terrible storm, The wicked are swept away, Having stood and hollered, Eaten and drunk, Laughed and scoffed. Now they are nothing.   So great and terrible is that fire That we pity even our enemies, Repentant that they stood against us. But against us they stood, Pushing away their good, Despising their very lives, Pulling seed out of the ground, Poisoning their wells, Burning their houses, Slitting their throats, Hating the urgent help, Vigorously throwing out The butter and milk and all good food, Eagerly saving and eating The eggshells and cardboard cartons, The cellophane wrappers and bones.   Would the beggar refuse a banquet? Would a dying man reject a physician? But our enemies have done just so.   The fire rages, and Nothing stands in its way; Only a terrible fire Can clear away the refuse And cleanse the contradiction Of the wicked and their ways.   Lethbridge, late 80's, early 90's ...

The Sword
I have heard it said many times that whatever divides is not of God. Of course, that simply depends on what is being divided and why. Is it not of God to divide sheep from goats, fleece from sheep, truth from error, heretics from the faithful, wheat from the tares? The problem is that those who make the statement above presume to be sheep or, they are under the false notion that pain and suffering and sorrow arising naturally from division are products of Satan and not of God. But these same people indulge in dividing others in the Name of God and think nothing of it. And does not God wound and break? Does He not call to forsake wife, children, parents and friends? Is forsaking easy and pleasant? If so, it would not be forsaking.   I am not sent for division's sake; I do not come to attack; Strife and debate I do not sow, Yet all these are found where I go.   I haven't come for evil's sake, Bearing trouble, sorrow and pain, Yet the sword I bear Will cut in two And each half in two again.   There are those who wish to take the truth And claim it for their own But others, joined to them, declare "If you go, you go alone."   I cannot help but cause this woe If I am to speak what is true; I can only hope as time goes on That your loved ones will come too.   But you cannot wait for them to come, The time to take heed is now. Just as you cannot wait for yours, The call cannot wait for you.   As friends increase, my enemies...

The Specter of Fear
I have known fear, perhaps not as some have known it but many know fear one way or another, at one time or another, to such an extent that it cripples, paralyzes the soul. We think we have security in this world until one day we are rudely awakened from our pipe-dream. Security in this world is but an illusion. When our disillusionment comes, its comrade-in-arms is often fear. But that disillusionment needn’t be our enemy. In truth, it can be a friend in disguise. Nor do we need to fear as though there is no such thing as true and sure security, for then we would be prey to a lie, to our own destruction. There IS a sure security for those who will avail themselves of it. My fear rides me like a stern rider Rides his horse. Unless I run his pace, His spurs dig deep my sides. I think blood flows at times…I’m sure of it. I scarcely dare to think, to pause For fear I have a rider Who will not show me mercy Who will not grant me pardon Who will not make a move To relent, to ease my pain. “Run!” he says. I run. “Faster!” says he. I go faster. “Faster isn’t good enough! You’ve had it!” I think that if I drop, I have sweet release. He whips me as I fall. Fear is not afraid to beat a dead horse. He seems to relish it, delight in it. The compassion of fear is tyranny, His patience only scorn. He takes the meat and feeds it to minks, And then I think, “Aha! There is rest in the mouths of minks, Fear has no torment there!” Until I find that my rider Is possess...