Thursday, October 27, 2011

dashed on the rocks...


Not like Moses came, in a basket down a gentle stream...
Not for you my son, you were born into a maelstrom on a listing ship.
All the while He was there, do you see?
All the while I've clung to you, and you've clung to me.
Make no mistake my son, much like I, you've been dashed from the start...
you know not now, that a mark's on your heart.
Bottle up life not, pour it out to Him...
Keep it not inside, keep it not within.
Son, I know, for there i've already been.
All around you, men will crumble, down on the first blow...
but not you and i, oh no. Cracked from stone, on we will go.
Made for a season, through the fire our steel. He's pounded us flat,
made for the kill. Sharpened in hurt, bent for His will.
I know it seems heavy, this world evokes wrath....
but you will be strong, you must be, for this path.
Man up son, play the part. I am not worried, I know you've the heart.
The times lay ahead, when they'll need men like us...
men of nerve, men who've suffered, men with angst, when we've only sought love.
We'll get our chance, we'll have our day.
The Lord's had to harden us up, so we'd make it all the way.
For in this truth, be thankful, be glad....for one day you will be,
when the rest have been had.
Look them in the eye, and plant your feet....
knowing you can square off with anything life throws you, anyone you meet.
Fear is our enemy, in that lies defeat.
We have no cause to worry though, He has them already beat.
He goes on before us, just keep on your feet.
Keep your chin up, don't look left, don't look right.
Don't you dare stop, don't look down, and keep Him in sight.
Don't feel like you fail me, I know you'll do right.
I push you hard, I press you, I won't let up, and there's a good reason why.
I want to be sure Son, that you're stronger than I.

Friday, October 21, 2011

The Tourist



Just passing through....
I'm packing light with a heavy heart.
They're waiting for me, and I'll someday be waiting for you.
Been given what i need, and not much else.
No lofty degree, no material wealth...
just my soul, my identity, and my bill of health.
I don't speak several languages, and i don't
tango dance.
I wear worn out levis, i don't starch my pants.
I don't belong here, I belong where i'm going...
just a tourist passing through, loving, admiring.
Sure, i have a job, but it's not what I'm for...
just a means to an end, till i'm called for much more.
Not the modern man, not like those in spades...
and i'd love you like they can't if given the chance.
just where i am, and that's where i'll be.
for some reason, in some ryhme....Lord knows I don't.
roads i would travel, but i can't and i won't.
If i stay on this road, and i follow his will,
my destination will be revealed. I know it will.
I travel alone, but I'd love you to come...
just pack light, for we surely will roam.
I can offer only this heart, for that's all i have to give..
but i promise you this, we will truly live.
On a leave of sorts, till the trumpets blow...
and it's in that hour, that you'll truly know...
why i cannot go where some men do, for the time is short,
and i've a job to do.