Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 3-13-06

I find myself in cold and dark;
No flesh about to hold me fast;
The light restrained; familiar mark;
I dread the length that this might last;
Withhold the bloom, for no sun here;
Yet ablaze within, to quench any cheer;

I would rejoice to see the moon,
With it’s cold, silvery bathing light;
I would dance to direful tune;
If I could but find the might;

O, bask about me, gracious King;
Give me strength, to give You praise;
I feel Your eye, upon me sting;
My throat is parched, I cannot raise
My voice to You, to recall glory,
For You alone, my soul-story;

I die again, within this tomb;
I know it’s stench all too well;
I sense I am to see my doom;
The brimstone flames to fiery swell;

A plan You have; this darkened chain;
With my eyes, I strain for naught;
There’s glory in this purposed pain;
By holy blood, I’ve been bought;
What can I do, but draw e’er nigh,
To You alone, my God most high;

Make me weep, on this dusty plain;
Set a beat to match my cries;
Make my lament a glorious refrain;
Give You joy for Your eyes;

My holy One; my Praise, my King;
My soul’s asunder, with nothing left;
I have no tune, by which to sing;
My heart no joy; reduced, bereft;
So glory in this devoid of light,
Be the Sun, against new moon;
Be the strength where there’s no might;
Be the Song; silence my wound;
Lord, You are most justified,
To take me down this darkened plain;
To blind my eyes within this glide;
To teach me Christ, with painful reign;

Mark this time, with Your quill;
Record the heart; all it reveals;
Set the pace to march this hill;
But remain my sacred Seal.

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