Saturday, April 3, 2010

Where be a savior?

Wind swept...beaten...shorn.
Gritty desert, whirling dust.
There’s no shelter for the weary worn.
Chafed, disgorged, tormented.
Where be a savior?
In marbled buildings of luscious light,
in sweet perfumed sanctuaries
crowds are hushed
hands withdrawn.
Withered hands of putrid souls.
Where be a savior?
In reverend halls of century’s
austerity holy scholars pause.
Words of life they cling
tenaciously, their meanings 
are for naught.
Where be a savior?
In sacred texts teachers and 
preachers find their call.
And drawn forth like swords they
use their texts to doth inspire.
The words in light embody
their meaning but only to 
those who willingly seeing
the Truth-intent of God-breathed
texts, for when the Spirit imbibed
the Savior was made flesh.
Where is the shelter for a soul
ragged and worn?
Where is a refuge for hearts
tattered and torn?
Seeking sanctuary’s embracing 
arms find cold dissipation and 
hardened reservation. 
For many a requisite must first be
discharged; institutions are after all
man-made religion.
Seek not the pious halls, the 
solemn meetings.  Seek not
the fakery of man’s vain worship;  
the stringed music of lofty timbrel,
the sweet but empty voices of choir’s
Where then is this savior?
As light that doth illuminate.
As air that doth penetrate.
As life that doth course through
the veins, He’s ever present,
ever near.  With Him is the solace,
the resting place for wearied years.

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