Poetry, Rhyme, Weekly Post

Eden (Re-posted As a Weekly Post)

I sit beneath a shady tree
And listen to the melody

Of breezes swinging through the leaves
Every hour I yearn and wait
For this–the hour when I perceive
And hear my Maker’s nearing gait

 

He calls my name; I quickly rise
To follow His unfailing stride

And if I ever went astray
He’d trace my foolish, wayward steps
And bring me back here to His way
Even if it meant His death

 

Years have passed since Eden’s days
I’ve left Yehovah’s narrow way

Yeshua came to the garden and prayed
Not to Eden, but Gethsemane
His love was stronger than the grave
He died and rose to deliver me

 

One day His voice will pierce the skies
He’ll call my name, I’ll quickly rise

But as for now, I hold my pen
And write of heaven, and how I’ll hear
The sounds of Eden all again
My Maker’s footsteps drawing near

Corresponds to Genesis 3:8a

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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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Poetry, Rhyme

Eden

I sit beneath a shady tree
And listen to the melody

Of breezes swinging through the leaves
Every hour I yearn and wait
For this–the hour when I perceive
And hear my Maker’s nearing gait

 

He calls my name; I quickly rise
To follow His unfailing stride

And if I ever went astray
He’d trace my foolish, wayward steps
And bring me back here to His way
Even if it meant His death

 

Years have passed since Eden’s days
I’ve left Yehovah’s narrow way

Yeshua came to the garden and prayed
Not to Eden, but Gethsemane
His love was stronger than the grave
He died and rose to deliver me

 

One day His voice will pierce the skies
He’ll call my name, I’ll quickly rise

But as for now, I hold my pen
And write of heaven, and how I’ll hear
The sounds of Eden all again
My Maker’s footsteps drawing near

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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

O Father

Our Father, heavenward we pray
Your little child has gone astray
He’s wandering further from Your Way
To You we turn our hearts and say

O Father, he’s Your child, Your son
And far from You his heart has run
Oh, give him strength to overcome
The doubts that to his heart have come

And we know that we’ll see some day
Your little child that went astray
Running back upon Your Way
He’ll see Your face and cry and say,

“O Father again to You I pray
For years I fled from You and strayed
Oh, keep me safe upon Your Way
I don’t deserve to see Your face.”

O Father, give him rest and peace
And cause his doubts and fears to cease
And may he always Your son be
And follow You with heart complete.

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