Poetry

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Beauty is held in the hands
of the One who is of beauty.
What He wills He commands
and sings of His glory.

Beauty crashes in two’s and three’s
and sadly falls apart..
The world bemoans like roaring seas
revealing its needy heart.

Beauty in the eyes
of One always seeing
is enough to break a heart,
and rend it as one pleading.

Earth’s steward thinks himself a king;
blasphemes the king of beauty.
A haughty chorus his mouth sings
and shakes His court unruly.

So Beauty comes, without a crown
with no aim to threaten.
Unfaithful steward hears no sound,
yet his heart is deafened.

“Strike this one without a crown;
His shame be my content.
Let my will drown the sound,
the truth of His existence!”

Beauty on the beam
before Him always seeing
is enough to break His heart,
and yet the scene seems pleading.

Beauty reels and fades away,
His last words full of beauty.
Forgiveness and mercy, so He prays,
His death seems His duty.

Such beauty is timeless, without fear;
with strength against the Death.
While the steward sings victorious jeers,
Beauty draws His breath.

Beauty lives though He had died,
the scars only add to His beauty.
The time He came and drew nigh,
a plan so beautifully timely.

The steward stopped, he holds his breath,
beholding the risen Beauty.
The One who lives saves him from death,
who then gives as He is worthy.

Beauty done is beauty made
in the steward once replete.
This is a beauty that will not fade,
for the steward is made complete.

© 1-29-09

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