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This is the 17th in a series of 40 poems I wrote based on the book of Job. This is from Job 19, Job's sixth speech: a response to Bildad. Open your Bible, read along and let me know your thoughts!
I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth
Job 19:20
Then Job spoke again:
Hold your tongue, I implore, and torment me no more.
You have crushed me with words since you came.
You’ve reproached me ten times with the most heinous crimes;
you mistreat me yet still have no shame!
If its true that I err, tell me, why do you care
when my error concerns me alone?
If indeed you'd exalt yourselves using my fault
and disgrace over sin that I own,
know that God all along has accused me of wrong
and I'm hopelessly caught in his net.
Though I cry out for aid there is no answer made;
though I call, there is no justice yet.
God has blocked my way fast so I'll never get past;
he has darkened the paths that I tread.
Wealth and honor — he's stripped, and my scales have been tipped,
and the crown's been removed from my head.
Every side, he's destroyed — I am empty and void;
he uproots any hope like a tree.
I’ve incurred his great ire and it burns me as fire;
I am counted as his enemy.
Now, his troops have advanced — they've built siege ramps against
me; surrounding my tent, they're arranged.
And the distance I feel from my family is real;
every one of my friends is estranged.
Since my family has left I'm alone and bereft,
even friends have forgotten to call.
Both my servants and maids cannot hide their charades,
but consider me foreign to all.
I’ve called servants by name but not one of them came;
though I've pleaded with them, they've rebelled.
I'm embarrassed to death should my wife smell my breath!
It is foul — and my family's repelled!
Even small children sneer when they see me appear;
with their insults and jokes they attack.
I'm the one they detest, even those I've known best;
those I've loved will no longer love back.
Though my gaunt, sallow flesh clings to bones, more or less,
I've escaped by the skin of my teeth.
Friends, have mercy, I pray, in the things that you say;
for the hand of God brought me this grief.
Why pursue me? Because God Almighty still does!
Have I flesh left that he never took?
If a way could be found to have this written down,
so these words were inscribed in a book;
with a chisel and lead for the ages ahead,
so engraved there forever in stone!
As for me, this I know: my Redeemer lives, so
in the end he will stand here alone.
From the grave where I'm laid, once my skin has decayed
mighty God, in my flesh, will I see.
I will see him myself — him, and nobody else!
How my heart yearns and aches within me!
If you say, Let us hound him — his troubles are found
in the problems he's brought from his past;
'tis the sword you should fear for your punishment's near —
by the sword, know there's judgement at last.
www.thehawksquill.com
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