Morning Thoughts That Turn to Prayer

Will I search till eyes grow dim,
And back is bent and arms are weak?
Will I find my hope in Him,
Or travel past for what I seek?

Will that first redeeming love
Keep it’s root till I grow old?
Or will I die a poor sad man
In his silence growing cold?

Let He who first begun the work
Do His bidding in my soul
And let the fire burn the straw
That what is left may keep me whole.

Understanding Heaven

I don’t understand heaven at all.

I have never been there.

I’m sure I could give you all sorts of answers from books
and tell with sophisticated terms of art what is and isn’t described
in one particular book.

But I have never been there
and don’t know that it stays the same
and couldn’t tell you much at all
of all the beasts both wild and tame.

And people with their anger shout
And cry and scream and shake their fists
And claim that it could never be
And rail against the thought of lists.

And so the world continues on
spinning with no heart to feel.

Are there streets so paved with gold?
Are there gates beset with pearls?
Do the agèd not grow old?
I could not tell you, not at all.

For I have never been.

And this is how I understand heaven:

If God sends me to hell forever
I will bend my knee and praise Him still.

And That Night We Did Not Freeze to Death

Bright and shining happy sun
lighting peaks to free from night
Warming hearts that feared to run
And to the traveler giving light.

As the morning so the day
And in the light a newfound joy
And with the heat another way
And so unfrozen the mountain coy.

Bashful in her striking gown
White on black into the sky
And with the glory of her crown
The morning light a gentle sigh.

How Will I Know the Way Back Home?

I don’t know what to pray
I feel as numb with heavy limbs
Like lead fills all my veins
A small victory sometimes seems
Far too little
amidst all the growing agony.
To do right is hard
and wrong so easy
and so the world tears itself apart.
I long for companionship
but fear all sorts of pain
my old friend who eats at me
is both a comfort
and a fear
and small victories seem so small
and the road seems far too long
and death, like a friendly cloak,
lurks in the shadows of every room.
The light begins but finds such shade
and darkness steals the left and right
and we in finite final form
fear to tread at all.
Would you believe in all this filth?
Would you believe with strawless bricks?
The fog is thick even in day
and the way has grown obscured.
But faith, unasked for,
hidden deep,
holds an ember with a fire
burning at the heart to keep
all it’s holy right desire.
Explanations fail the heart
after years of beatings grim
but faith, from reason, not apart
holds a fire in the night…