Poetry, Rhyme

One Petition

If one petition I could make
‘Tis not for wealth or fame I ask
You did great things in years gone by
I ask that You complete Your task

O Master, I do not deserve
The least of all Your kindness shown
But if I must request for aught
O Master, bring my brother home

If three petitions I could ask
My mortal tongue would humbly say
“Let those entrapped in darkness’s snare
Be made to see Your perfect way.”

Master, I do not desire
A wealth of silver or of gold
But let the ones who seek Your face
Continue so ’til they are old

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Art

Williamshire Coat of Arms

EPSON MFP image

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This is the coat of arms that I invented for “Williamshire” (our house). The motto (written above) says in Hebrew, “But as for me and my house, we will serve Yehovah.” The scroll and letters on it symbolize Yeshua and Yah’s Word.

This was made with Crayola markers and colored pencils.

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Poetry, Rhyme

Oasis

This home is an oasis–
When suffering from heat
Of desert winds
We come within
Where winds their blowing cease

This home is an oasis–
When thirsty from a drought
We take our fill
Of what the hills
Abundantly pour out

This home is an oasis–
Where, even in this land
Of heat and thirst
He’s giving us
The strength to thrive and stand

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Free Verse, Poetry

The Light

At midnight, dark and calm,
Except for stars and birds,
I glance outside to see
A lamp was lit for him–
My brother.

My father each night said
“Good night” to us and left
To his room but first
Lit a lamp for him–
The prodigal.

So here I am at night,
Standing near the door,
I glance outside to see
A lamp is lit for him–
The wanderer.

My father can not go
And bring him back to us,
But he can light a lamp
But he can light the path
For someone.

And maybe, at this time,
Though wrapped in darkest night
His soul runs to the light
His legs are running back
My father will run too
My father will run to
My brother.

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Poetry, Rhyme

The Runner

Give me my money.
I want to go, explore across the seas
on the path that only a prodigal takes.
I want to escape.

I want to wander.
I yearn to leave, search the lands far out yonder,
the lands so little known of,
The lands of mystery.

I long to run.
I want to do nothing, to just have fun,
although my father warned me many times,
That I always need to be wise.

I want to turn.
Turn my ears from the things he wants me to learn,
go to a place where things are not the same,
Where my lifestyle and I can change.

∾§∾

But now I wonder.
Since my life dove so far under
the surface of trust and responsibility,
Will my father accept me?

In faith I turn back
And move shakily on the old, worn track
where I once stomped in defiance
But now tread in compliance.

Back I wander.
Twisting through the trails that I had sauntered,
going this time in humility,
Escaping the land that nearly captured me.

Now I hurry.
The familiar road races beneath me.
I try to tell myself to keep on going
But it’s hard with the worries I am towing.

I see his face.
I sense my father’s mercy, faithfulness, and grace.
It gives me something to live for, to die for,
Something to run for.

So I run.
I run with all my might; my father runs to me,
with our new energy we keep racing,
Then we meet, embracing.

I hope for no more
Than my father’s lowest servant’s murky role.
I am not good enough to be a son,
My father now has only one.

But he leads me back.
I am his son and he has no love that I lack.
I am here, nevermore to roam.
I am home.

∾§∾

I have learned
That my father’s face had always been turned
in the direction where I left; he yearned
For the time when I would return.

I wrote this poem when I was about eleven years old.

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