Saturday, November 27, 2004

A Bad (if Pious) Poem

Many are the leaches
Sucking marrow from life,
The hope from dreams,
the light from the guiding star.

There is too much that teaches
the steely keenness of the knife,
the logical implausibility of dreams,
that we'll ever only be what we are.

The god of this age is dark,
and he makes his minions' lives stark.
He makes life a matter of unrelenting pain.
It is a struggle simply to stay sane.

Where can be found a saviour,
who can save us from our sad behaviour?
We need an atoning sacrifice, propitiation,
to salvage for us our sorry situation.

There is too little that reminds us,
of the God who loves us as He finds us,
of the Lord who lovingly designs us,
who shapes us for the life He assigns us.

In truth there is only One,
who is called God the Son.
From His love we need never run,
Shown the work that He has done.

There is only One who loves us right,
And we are so precious in His sight.
He takes us from darkness into His light,
Let Him take you and hold you tight.

1 comment:

johnMark said...

So you've joined the bloggers. Cool. What's sad about your poem is that some or even many of today's churches fit into the description you've got in the beginning. Hope you are well.