Poetry

He rises above
   the nightly mist

He rises above
   the nightly mist,
a hostile globe
   is set alight.
Today we greet
   with loathing
what was once a
   worshiped sight.

His light pierces
   our eyes,
harshly rousing us
   from our sleep.
We stumble around
   and shun his light,
cursing him for
   wanting a leap.

“This is not enough
   for us,” we say.
“It is everything,”
   he replies.
“Your light is hot
   and blinding,” we charge.
“My light is warm
   and bright,” he cries.

“You cannot expect
   what you ask.
With logic we
   will find a way.
We might reach you
   on that side.
Or maybe down here
   we will stay.”

We dream of light
   but hope for dark,
Proudly wearing
   our shameful mark.

He flies his
   gallant standard,
calling us to
   his holy side.
“Come my friends,
   my brothers,
our righteous
   banner will abide.”

His army
   pushes ahead,
forcing back the
   dark enemy.
Some of us
   join his fight,
though many simply
   hide and flee.

“Forward, my friends!
   The front advances!”
His song is heard
   across the field.
“The fight is hard,
   but victory is glory!”
The fate of dark
   is nearly sealed.

He rides ahead,
   sword in hand.
The wicked horde
   falls before him.
They make a last,
   desperate charge,
but his sacred light
   does not dim.

The foe is vanquished,
   the fight won,
but still we
   hide from the sun.

“Why do you crawl
   like babes?
Why do you still
   refuse to stand?
Why do you
   ignore my plea?
Do you not see
   my open hand?

“Do not be
   so foolish.
You say you only
   seek a sign.
What you seek,
   you will not find.
Truly, ‘tis I for
   whom you pine.”

His light now
   shines from above.
Many men have now
   heard his call.
They turn their
   backs on evil.
They arise from
   their errant fall

By faith we see
   his glory.
By faith we hear
   his truthful word.
By faith we gain
   our hope.
By faith we feel
   his gentle bird.

And still he calls
   us to healing,
a walk that begins
   with kneeling.

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