The living coming One-a poem

If I could walk beside the dead
And take their hand imparting You,
the Holy Thrice transcendent One.
But in what a minor world they roam,
seeking hope beneath, within, among
the still dead places
untouched by spring’s bright promise. Picture by Derek McHenry

“Jesus is dead”

If I could open eyes,
the eyes shut by some fairytale like witch,
who traded her poor bought candy for the chance
to eat the fat of lambs
and children.
If I could shine that light of You
until blindness opens to the risen Lord.

“He ain't coming back.”

If I could help him/her look down lonely
halls, highways and rough flights
until they catch the song that rises from the shadows.
Tears to be gathered in a bottle, laughter falling, broken
yet gathered back
to the one possessed and owned by God.
The coming One, the King of kings.

“If civilization or even humanity will survive the next few decades it will be up to some incredibly good fortune AND human beings making wise choices.”

It is His sovereignty that grips;
His love that reaches for the dead one;
His power that touches the tortured eyes
of those who now peer into darkness.
It is His promise that holds the world together
His promise that brings our spring.
His promise that prepares good works

This is a poem written by me with a little help from Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel and an unintentional (he didn't mean to help) Presbyterian pastor, John Shuck. See also Psalm 56:8, Malachi 3:17-18 and Eph 2:10.