Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  



The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Bark is Worse than His/Her Bite (10/17/13)

TITLE: Death and the Process of Being
By Don V. Standeford
10/24/13


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

Youíre in the process of becoming
Forget all that ďbe nice, donít be bad,
Keep a little sadness in you;Ē
Just hold my hand cousin and let God
Break you; ride this stream; I hope now
You can get serious before you die

There was a woman with an issue
You may say, ďWhatís that got to do with me?Ē
She had tried all the remedies
Her own body turned against her
Like your cancer of blood

When the flesh clamps down on you
With its strangling hug; think of this lady
With the issue of blood

All the way sick
She was all the way healed.
Makes me think of the chittum
We once peeled
For medicine in those woods

They werenít our trees; they belonged
To a man that weighed five hundred pounds
We stole in the innocence of our youth

Still itís in my mind, a scene that we shared
We peeled the chittum trees
To the cold skin, and that howl in the forest
Some big dog or beast
Haunted us like the spawn of Satan,
But

Donít worry, though you may be
Awake in the cold tonight
Deathís bark is worse than its bite.

II
That deep deep forest
It had a stand of white trees, we claimed
Our youth in its whispering breeze
Would you scold the pale woman
With the issue of blood? Or like Peter wish

For the hem you once followed in love?
At the edge of the forest, white trees
Bared; tick-tock, tick-tock

Itís time for me to talk:

Cousin; where are your legal pals now
Frozen pews who think law is still king?
Those whitewashed tombs now ignore you
Whitewashed in layers
They could never be porous; so
What great

Things have they done? Remember 59? 40?
Even 1?

Peel your cure in the cold and donít fear
Deathís bark is worse than its bite.


III
Tai-i-thacu-mi, I just felt His spirit move right through me
Only Jesus can un-sick death, so rise
From your sickbed my cousin
And go go go; donít take two coats, no!
Just walk and pray and walk and pray

Till your clothes are rent and this sickness has gone
breathe breathe, my heartís
Brother, my friend; ignore those in tombs;
But be careful in who you believe, for

If it were John the Baptist who rose from his grave
How many would that have saved? As for death
Know how its bark is much worse than its bite.


IV
The woods of our youth were sinful and harsh
But we felt His touch, soft pliable hands
Dry rough bark close to our soul

We had no idea that he was the God/Man
We worshipped in Sunday school,
As we sang to Jesus songs so sweet

In retrospect, those songs ring true in my mind

Like Hawthorneís scarlet-ed woman, alone I gazed
At the tumbling creek and hoped in the bark
That seemed to go deep in the woods and the dark
To arise in the winters and fall into springs

The springs of our youth; you were always persistent,
My cousin, my cousin; be that again.


V
Remember the fairgrounds and rotting wood benches?
You introduced me
To all worldly things, for that
I forgive you, as our past was a growing place;

We trusted each other and thrived in the summer
Country times Ė only half of me accepted your world
The other half wanted to leave berries and bees
Chittum and fern, and creeks and dry beds
For the city

Why would He care for us wretched poor beings?
Still --

He starts the sky yellow, changes it to blue
Weíre killed every winter; then He brings back the dew

This sweetest of life is ours once again


VI
Remember, my cousin, life can be yours
Again, I tell you, so many mornings I spent
On my knees for my own health,
For yours too now,

As that small yellow sun felt cold
My faith hardened, but my gait grew old
Imagine, you cheating your cold dead fate

As your old gray head bows to pray
And your skin gets peeled away youíll see
That deathís bark is worse than its bite

And you are no longer young

Each breath you take will feel
Like itís a stolen one.


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 138 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 10/24/13
This is a powerful piece. I can feel your passion in each word. I like the line Death's bark is worse than its bite. Even though I believe, I still fear death. Your words brought me comfort on this cold December-like day.
CD Swanson 10/27/13
Riveting, powerful and intensely moving.

God bless~