Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 8-18-06

This dust
I hold in hand,
My flesh’s origin;
Where it is from, it will return;
I’m humbled by my physical essence;
Unbearable reality;
Undeniable truth,
This dust;

He comes,
Clothed in the dust
He had made for His own;
He learns of need, pain; perfected;
Anointed, He is then my great High Priest
To God, He offers His own blood;
And our sins: paid in full;
My Priest and king,
He comes;

Spirit
Of the true God,
Comes and meets my great need;
Completes my flesh, plus my spirit;
Water makes dust clay; water turns to wine;
And I am another being;
I am redeemed by Him,
All by His great
Spirit;

Truly,
I am complete
In Him; He has saved me;
All my answers are found in Him,
Other questions, to be met by His gaze,
When I am to see Him,
To be with Him;
Truly.

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