Poetry

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My dark days have turned much darker, 
  and I don't know just where to turn. 
Is this just Your Spirit's marker?
How much hotter will it burn?

I'm provoked to look behind. 
Have I left forgotten sin?
Is there a place where I was blind?  
Have I walked the ways of men?

Then I saw what I had done. 
It wasn't Your will that I mislaid. 
In my love for Your Son, 
  it had been words I had prayed.

I may have seen something in Your word, 
  or something You showed me, in my heart.
Now I know why my vision's blurred.
Why this new place is so dark. 

You're taking me to the edge, 
  where I've no choice, but to trust. 
Will You keep what I have pledged,
  or crush my fear down to dust?

The dark I face is the garden,
  where He sweated drops of blood. 
Only my prayer's based on Your pardon, 
  the grace You poured like a flood. 

You want me to see where He had gone,
  what He had seen, what He felt. 
This is the path of the Son, 
  when nothing's left but the Father's help. 

I'll only see what He knows so well,
  I'm on this side of His cross. 
I'll barely feel the fires of hell. 
I'll not know the utter loss.

Yet if this takes me, to my death,
  I will see You with my eyes.
For in Your hand is my breath. 
My life is bought by Your Christ. 

So it was something I had done, 
  provoked by Your will that I mislaid, 
    when I first learned the love of Your Son, 
  and those words I had prayed.

© 1-5-10

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