Beckoned by the old, oak entrance
A deepest brown of wisdom's welcome
Passing through, the empty stainglass windows
call my name
They tell forgotten tales of empires and legacies
A King, where on a hilltop was betrayed
A kiss, so gently placed upon His human flesh,
soon to be torn from His face
No man shall wear a greater crown
of thorns, nor lords,
and thieves on either side
A tree between His shoulder blades
And This stained glass, not yet broken
Is shattered none the less.
There stands the pulpit, who could miss it?
Erect and monumental
A medal of honor
Proudly pinned in the center of the sacred cathedral
A condemning place of concentration
For the prisoners in their pews
Who can honestly accept the truth?
The angels, they sing, the angels, always singing
Hallelujah
Babies with their wings
Halo's and harps,
little clouds and chords softly strung
Should not bold warriors take their stead?
This, I've always wondered
As the bell tower resounds
Ding-Dong, Ding. Dong, Ding.
Calling, calling, calling all the children,
"Suffer not...
Come unto me
I will give you rest."
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Hmmm...you've already posted this somewhere, I believe.
ReplyDeleteHowever, I don't think I took the time to actually read this last time.
I imagine someone discovering this abandoned church, where the wind blows in and out of the old oak entrance, and dead leaves dance with it.
And you're right, no tale of kings and lords, honor or chivalry, will ever be greater than the one your telling.
This is beautiful.
Billy this is visually beautiful, it is strong and soft and powerful! God has given you a wonderful gift with which to honor him.
ReplyDeleteI love you're process of thought and the fact that I can visualize someone walking into an old, once-brilliant church and contemplating all of this.
ReplyDeleteIt's very true... who honestly can accept the truth? Many have made the crucifixion and death of our Lord something lovely and precious. But it was raw and ugly and painful and harsh. No one wants to remember that.
This, Billy, is truth in its most imperfect form. It needs to become a song someday... I can hear music in my head.
So I've read this over several times, and each time it seems to evoke a different feeling. Guilt being the first and most eminent. Perhaps it's because I feel we often forget his ultimate love and sacrifice, and when we come back to the reality of these things, we are found broken in the presence of the Lord. While reading, I envision one coming back to the reality of who God really was, is, and is to come. I feel like this is totally off track of what you were trying to communicate, but maybe not?
ReplyDeleteBilly,
ReplyDeleteThe only thing that grips me as I read this is my complete inability to write and a strong desire or NEED to write. Come tell me how you form these thoughts and write them down.
Mr. Streng
I very much so wish to read something new of yours...
ReplyDeleteHow's the one I inspired you to write coming along?
This is so beautiful. Is it a song? Because if it's not you should write me music so I can sing it....something Celtic. Loreena McKennitt The Highwayman or Dark Night of the Soul-esque.
ReplyDelete