Jacked Up Creation
(I wrote this a few years back and for some reason it has been on my mind to share again, so forgive me the repetition and enjoy...)
dawn
Lay down, lay down you filthy whore
Lay down, lay down you unwed mother
Lay down, lay down you hurting little girl
A grieving, angry heart you act out your
rebellion towards your Father. He took
your mentor, your friend, your mother
and left you with a preacher dad, too busy
for you. You conclude your Father does
not care so you run the other way.
Traces of the girl you once were still remain,
but your stubborn heart would rather
drown in pain. Through your teary eyes,
your world crashes again as you see a pink
line. He abandoned you again...again He’s left
you to your own devices. Again you conclude
He does not care. Lay down, lay down, you
hurting, scared, lost little girl.
dave
You abandoned your principles for
temporal freedom–neglecting the price tag.
Dawn was your escape from a faux union,
from a nagging, controlling woman called,
wife. The squeaky wipers, (they sound just
like her) wake you from your haunting
thoughts and bring you back to face the
truth. A devastated girl sits with a blank
expression staring out the window. Your
guilty conscience says its your fault,
condemns you a murderer. The rain stops
and the Son breaks through–you squint,
trying to look away–there should be no
Son today–not for you, an accomplice to
a premature death for an unwanted life.
You fight back tears and beg the Son to
leave. You abandon your principles again,
you choose to live in shadows,
forgetting the warmth of the Son.
diane
Tick tock, always watching the clock
Tick tock, wondering where’s he at
Haggard and unsure he stumbles through
the door only to be met with a barrage of
your belittling hisses. No sweet kisses on
his tear stained face, no look of concern or
love, or even respect. He doesn’t deserve it,
for you suspect this inadequate, incompetent,
unreliable, unfaithful man. You secretly pride
yourself on your strong will, and ability to
intimidate him with just a look. He shuffles
shamefully passed you and locks himself
in his den. You bring before your god
the injustices against you. You bring before
your god your unhappy home. You beg him
to fix your husband, whom you disgust.
Tick tock, you call the preacher with the
wayward daughter. Tick tock.
dan
Beloved or a failure–who are you?
A grieving widower who’s daughter has
run amuck. Who are you to mend your
flock, to speak in to the silence that
consumes the room and the tension that
destroys peace as the couple glares at one
another with cold eyes, crossed arms and
closed hearts. Your tired of this scene,
played out each day with differing faces and
calloused hearts, broken hearts, healing hearts,
different couples, same couch. Your tired of
trying to fix what no human can. You look
at today’s residents of the couch, you think
of your hurting little girl and your heart cries,
"O God! What have you done? Where have
you gone?" Each dawn you wrestle and fight
to comprehend the incomprehensible. A
grieving widower, the father to a stranger
who are you–a failure or beloved?
The bloodied Savior weeps for his
beloved. For how these children
profane their Father’s redeeming
love and deny the Spirit’s comfort.
The bloodied Savior weeps for his
beloved.
dawn
Lay down, lay down you filthy whore
Lay down, lay down you unwed mother
Lay down, lay down you hurting little girl
A grieving, angry heart you act out your
rebellion towards your Father. He took
your mentor, your friend, your mother
and left you with a preacher dad, too busy
for you. You conclude your Father does
not care so you run the other way.
Traces of the girl you once were still remain,
but your stubborn heart would rather
drown in pain. Through your teary eyes,
your world crashes again as you see a pink
line. He abandoned you again...again He’s left
you to your own devices. Again you conclude
He does not care. Lay down, lay down, you
hurting, scared, lost little girl.
dave
You abandoned your principles for
temporal freedom–neglecting the price tag.
Dawn was your escape from a faux union,
from a nagging, controlling woman called,
wife. The squeaky wipers, (they sound just
like her) wake you from your haunting
thoughts and bring you back to face the
truth. A devastated girl sits with a blank
expression staring out the window. Your
guilty conscience says its your fault,
condemns you a murderer. The rain stops
and the Son breaks through–you squint,
trying to look away–there should be no
Son today–not for you, an accomplice to
a premature death for an unwanted life.
You fight back tears and beg the Son to
leave. You abandon your principles again,
you choose to live in shadows,
forgetting the warmth of the Son.
diane
Tick tock, always watching the clock
Tick tock, wondering where’s he at
Haggard and unsure he stumbles through
the door only to be met with a barrage of
your belittling hisses. No sweet kisses on
his tear stained face, no look of concern or
love, or even respect. He doesn’t deserve it,
for you suspect this inadequate, incompetent,
unreliable, unfaithful man. You secretly pride
yourself on your strong will, and ability to
intimidate him with just a look. He shuffles
shamefully passed you and locks himself
in his den. You bring before your god
the injustices against you. You bring before
your god your unhappy home. You beg him
to fix your husband, whom you disgust.
Tick tock, you call the preacher with the
wayward daughter. Tick tock.
dan
Beloved or a failure–who are you?
A grieving widower who’s daughter has
run amuck. Who are you to mend your
flock, to speak in to the silence that
consumes the room and the tension that
destroys peace as the couple glares at one
another with cold eyes, crossed arms and
closed hearts. Your tired of this scene,
played out each day with differing faces and
calloused hearts, broken hearts, healing hearts,
different couples, same couch. Your tired of
trying to fix what no human can. You look
at today’s residents of the couch, you think
of your hurting little girl and your heart cries,
"O God! What have you done? Where have
you gone?" Each dawn you wrestle and fight
to comprehend the incomprehensible. A
grieving widower, the father to a stranger
who are you–a failure or beloved?
The bloodied Savior weeps for his
beloved. For how these children
profane their Father’s redeeming
love and deny the Spirit’s comfort.
The bloodied Savior weeps for his
beloved.
posted by KJ at
9:59 AM
0 Comments
