Poetry

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Held within my lonely hand the thing that seeks to hold me.
It means to make me a better man and to set me free.
Like water shaping clay, fire to complete.
All I need is to pray and rise above defeat.

It is one, and not two, for my heart to aim,
like an arrow from the Father, the target is His Name.
Behind His word I hear a sound like applause.
He seeks for my success; I’ve become His cause.

My heated blood rushes at the thought of this.
It almost seems like heaven has sent me a kiss.
On this holy word, my God and I are meeting,
while a hateful heart burns, much like brimstone seething.

I am shaken, but not moved; my feet on firmest ground.
Guarded within by the Spirit, heaven’s holy Hound.
The faith that I hold, to God’s like precious gold.
The fire that’s His word burns in me as bold.

Think of me as most blest, the one with lonely hands.
He has given me His heart, in the form of His commands.

© 11-21-08

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