You have led me to this silent place
This silent, silent mumbling
Of wishes and sightless stumbling
You have left the crow’s-feet upon my face
O’ God, I have never touched the hand of grace.
Your poets cried bright and cutting words
That I rose to hear, on the edge of my chair
Of dream-worlds and the sun’s majestic glare
You left them blind with glory and swords
I lament, I will never see those mighty lords.
And so, if we have turned and turned
To the left and right, to the East from the West
Only to find the garden in the shadow of death
What have we found but a center that burns
That burned alive for what no other could earn
A center, a signpost, a blood-soaked dolmen, a stake
A horrid thing that raised high a Man, a God, a Sacrifice
Which we, which I, have failed to see will suffice
To redeem my rebellion, my weakness, my mortal sake
To cleanse my unsacred turning, my precious, accursed lake.
You have led me to this vital place
This silent, pleading supplication
Of hanging on your every words’ salvation
You have put your Son before my face
And you leave me with naught but your precious grace.
______________________________________
Psalms 71 and 88, Joshua and Moses, David and Solomon, a juxtaposition.
24 July, 2016
I still commit to this, though more pain and joy have been added. -24 November 2021
Paper Screams 
Those words quietly captured my heart, dear brother. Beautiful Saviour He is.
It works! One of my favorites, too.
Scripture does this to us. Theology leads to doxology. Or poetry.
It’s a common and strange phenomenon how we rest in the grace without grasping the totality and completeness of the sacrifice.
It’s always incomplete. Until it’s complete. World without end, amen amen.