Monday, April 13, 2009

You are the Lord

Miranda Royston

How could they stand there and watch You die?
How could they watch and not weep, and mourn, and cry?
Why do they spit and shout such cruel words?
Can’t they see You are the Lord?

How could they join in the chorus of hate?
How could they laugh to see You in this state?
How could they watch as You are stripped of life?
Can’t they see You are the Lord?

Your head now turns, but, how can this be?
Your eyes now stare at me!
Sorrowful eyes, full of pain, piercing my soul,
A thousand words expressed to my heart...

How could you condemn what you yourself convey?
Why do you judge others day by passing day?
How can you claim to be good when you’ve done nothing right?
Don’t you remember I am the Lord?

How could you stand there while others die?
How can you watch and not weep, and mourn, and cry?
Why don’t you speak out My Word?
Don’t you remember I am the Lord?

Head bowed with tears on cheek,
I can only fall on my face, meek.
How could I be so blind?
How could I forget You are the Lord?

How could I pierce Your tender flesh?
How could I forsake You and think that I know best?
How could I crucify the only One who loved me?
How could I forget You are the Lord?

How could I not adore You enough to tell others of Your grace?
How could I just brush it off and ignore Your pleading face?
You are worthy of so much more.
Now I remember, You are the Lord!

Friday, April 10, 2009

My Heart on Her Sleeve

These eyes are sparkling with an innocent joy.
This life each breath embraces with a smile - wide eyed and wondered at a beautiful world; waiting and watching with picturesque anticipation for each for each new happenstance that is culminating in new discovery and self-fulfillment.

On one dark day, when darkness rose it's ugly head, and bittersweet reality tore purity and innocence violently away, the smile faded and the tears began. They moistened and softened the dry, brittle earth, and slowly hardened this once innocent heart.

Now the tears have stopped. A certain bitterness has replaced this sorrow. A certain self-pity has developed into an emptiness that leaves one numb and lifeless inside.

Some have noticed this sad, fearful change, but they cannot know - they must never know. So, 'round the cavernous void of an empty, lonely heart, a fortress of mighty stone constructs, and dreams become safety; fantasy, security.

Now a shadow condemned to roam a loveless earth. Vanity, pride, and bitterness have molded this life into a dark veil of space; and one won't even notice, unless one looks very, very close.

Can anybody hear the scream that she doesn't even know she's screaming?
Could anybody show her the reality of selfless love?

If time and space could fear erase,
How long until she's given Grace?
I hold my breath and stand in place,
Until the day I see that face,
That, all her fear and pain erased,
The Hope within can break the walls,
And answer all her hurtful calls.

So, seven steps to Eternity,
Come before her now;
To see His perfect, selfless love,
And before His mercy bow,
And to know her own depravity,
That she's depraved and small,
To call upon His sovereignty,
And let Him be her 'All in All,'
And then to let her Mighty King,
Tear down her cold heart's walls.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

When Someday Meets Tomorrow

When someday meets tomorrow
There will be no sorrow.
When what was written in the past
Is revealed to us at last,
Our souls will feel the glad release
And rest in perfect peace.
Our heart's joy will be complete
Nevermore with sin compete.
Christ's glory will be so bright
There will be no need of light.
To heaven we will enter in,
When Christ o'er Satan wins.

God's Power

When the mist on the mountains heralds the day,
And the sun in its first strength drives it away.

When the crow calls its mate,
And the river finds the lake,

Even now I remember God’s pow’r.

Yet when life seems too hard,
And my sight, by sin, has been marred;

When I, like the Children of Israel, say,
“To follow the Lord is too much to pay.”

That is when I’ve forgotten God’s pow’r.

Is it upon life’s seas that I base
God’s strength or His weakness, whatever the case?

His strength will ever be the same.
There is no weakness in His name.

It’s my faith, not God’s pow’r, that’s changed.

Saints and Sinners

When God in his wisdom created man,
The end and the beginning were in his plan.
He knows the choice that each will make.

He knows the chance that each will take.
He waits patiently in his realm,
Although not stepping away from us,
He watches with his caring eye,
But helps when for help we cry,
He never more than forces us,
To make a choice, bad choices make,
The best of us our hearts to shake
With fear of punishment and pain,
Yet Christ allowed the blackened stain
To be washed away in blood.
The difference now betwixt the two,
These sinners and these saints,
Belongs to God alone, for you
Could never cleanse the stain.
The Sinners in death all were we,
Until the blood had made us clean.
The Saints became the holy ones,
To witness God’s deliverance...

Thoughts of You

Memories begin to flood my mind
Of many failures and successes and
Of abundant victories and distresses.
And, yet, a comforting thought enters my mind;
In Christ, true joy and peace I find!
Now, new thoughts begin to flood my mind...

Thoughts of my Lord begin to overflow
Knowing that He existed before all creation,
And bestows His steadfast love on every kindred, tongue, and nation.
My sorrowful thoughts did my Lord overthrow
The mere fact alone is too awesome to know
And the joy and praise in my heart cannot help but overflow!

He is Creator and my Redeemer,
He created the world and saved it.
He is my Father, but also my friend,
He is my All in All, and I cannot comprehend it!

Monday, April 6, 2009

These Red Locks

This visage framed in Fire,
These eyes now veiled in Red,
This heart in Crimson now reflected,
Flowing down from beauty's head.

These locks so soft,
Now blown across,
The face of one unknown,
In Scarlet beauty they caress,
The sweet and youthful tenderness,
Of one who finds herself alone.

Oh, to know what lies beneath,
Each and every Sunset tress,
The pain, the love, the hate, the grief,
Hidden under Loveliness.

Alas, the Lady Loves in Vain ~part II~

I politely bid the lass adieu' and proceeded to make my escape. The increased contortion of her dog-like visage informed me of her displeasure as she stepped to the side so as to prevent my safe passage beyond her mountainous physique.

I now found myself in a plight most perilous. Betwixt a stone wall and a stone -er- woman I found myself. Her approach made the cobblestone beneath her tread tremble in wonder at her, or rather, quake in fear for their very lives sake.

As she drew ever nigh to me, I sensed an unwelcome odour pervading the air. A thick, dripping sent of sticky molasses and sour-milk wafted, in all its self-proclaimed glory, into my head, via my most abused nostrils.

My head began to whirl and spin as my limbs waxed weak. She grabbed my collar and pulled her face close to mine. Her hot breath surged against my cheeks like unto some tropic storm of fire, or the breath of some fiend-like lizard from Sheol.

In my mind's eye I could see the withered forms of the undead wailing for mercy as they crawled towards the cavernous exit which flapped open and close with every fresh incantation of eternal affection. Each and every consonant seemed to bring with itself an eerie, artificial, green luminescence which illuminated the silhouettes of the woeful creatures, who would have been content to expire once again if it only meant release from this new found competitor of Hades.

Sunday, April 5, 2009


Hatred and malice
These are just a few
Selfish and lusting
Of those things which bring
Bitter and stubborn
The hammer to my hand

Once more I pound the nails

Deeper into your hands
The hands that love me
The hands that save me
These hands which I ever push away
Farther away
Farther away from where I need them to be

Lying and envy
These things hold me down
Curses and boasting
I struggle with my bonds
Prideful and impure
You alone bring me hope

Finally I will fall

Deeper into your hands
The hands that love me
The hands that save me
The hands I ever push away
Farther away
Farther away from where I need them to be

Stop pushing
Stop pushing
Stop pushing them away
These hands alone can save
Now I'll move my heart

Deeper into your hands

Friday, April 3, 2009

I use too many big words

I can confuse people
With my complex speech
So I now will write something short and sweet

Mother Hen, please count to ten
Or I’ll spit right in your eye
Please count the men inside the den
Who eventually must die

If there be eight, I’ll be too late
To kiss a lonely rose
If there be nine, I’m out of time
I needn’t kill one of those

You see, I must consume this trust
The maiden fair to win
This lonesome lust for rusty rust
As I embrace all vice and sin

So now I raise this lonely haze
A sword and shield in hand
Towards the den, with Mother Hen
To purge the frozen land

To my delight, under dim light
I count the soldiers, three and four
Seven and eight, almost right
Nine – yes TEN! I then prepare for war

Towards my feet, the first two meet
Their blood upon the ground
The next two fell, hard fast to hell
They hardly made a sound

The next man came, Tugda’lla by name
His blade was cunning and swift
But before his blow, the Hen did go
From those shoulders his head to lift

Three more came to purge Tug’s shame
But I put them in their place
One left, one right, before dawns light
The other lost his face

The next man fled, but Mother, red
Gave him hot pursuit
And took him down, removed his crown
Then dined upon her loot

This last man knelt, my presence felt
That something was amiss
He plucked a string, began to sing
And begged the Hen a kiss

Her neck she craned, her will had waned
She had been romanced
The last man thrust, breaking his trust
Mother Hen he lanced

Now bleeding red, She almost dead
Bequeathed to me her beak
I held in shock, an emerald rock
I had no words to speak

The den of men, no longer ten
In fury now did quake
The man and I thought both would die
When the den became a lake

Upon the ice, I hold this vice
Of beauty, green and rare
The man began, his sad song sang
Into his eyes I stare

He plucks his strings, and sweetly sings
And plays upon his lyre
Into his breast, Emerald I pressed
The minstrel fell in fire

Ten dead men embed the den
And so towards the town
I make great stride, with greater pride
Expecting my renown

In the tower the town’s dear flower
The maiden fair awaits
I now have power to rend the tower
The power of ten Wraiths

But Mother Hen, now killed of men
Possessed the only key
Her beak a stone, won’t open Rome
Is of little use to me