• [CHRISTIA] new poetry, "Stretching"

    From Mark@1:396/4 to Practical Christian Life on Sun Jun 14 12:57:45 2020
    From: lamppoet@CENTURYTEL.NET (Mark)

    We don't always hear so well.



    "Stretching"



    ("He (Jesus) said this to stretch Philip's faith. He already knew what he
    was going to do." John 6:6)



    Everyone thought they knew, and they threw their opinions down like
    challenges into the sand. The Messiah One has spoken to me, it seems,
    so clearly,
    that nearly everyone else should have heard to too.
    The Master's Plan is easy to understand, consult me first, I make it
    clear to you.
    My answers are quick, shooting off my tongue like bottle rockets
    on Independence shortly after dawn. I'll tell you who to vote for,
    I'll even take a photo of my ballot in the booth
    and
    splash on my social pages with comments neatly deleted.
    Follow my lead, because I always follow His, and quickly,
    no time at all, it's true, we'll turn back to the 60s when
    everyone carried guns in the trucks to school. (Did I forget the
    rules about separate drinking fountains and seats on buses?)
    Listen to me as I listen to Him, we'll dial it back to the 50s then,
    "Father Knew Best" and everything got left to Beaver. (Did I
    overlook McCarthy's great day, when playwrights, artists,
    comedians and misfits were painted so red they overshadowed
    the Midwestern sunsets?)



    I'm sweating on the inside, I only admit it to the so few who see these
    words;
    the farther back I go, 100 years? The more terror I behold. Japanese internment,
    females barred from voting, and it took more than two Native Americans to
    equal
    one single immigrant. You would think they could make a Native equal two
    after half had died in wars, raids, and death marches marking their way with tears.



    Jesus make me see what I hear so poorly. Paint the impossible clearly
    so I cannot be glib with good stories that can suck the tears straight out
    of
    unsuspecting eyes,
    but have little truth, little hope, and no facts at all behind them.



    Jesus make me feel the burning in the throats of those who have cried
    far too long over judgment days come far too early.
    Jesus make me feel the rumbling doubling over inside the guts of
    the tiny ones whose food comes and goes like autumn's cold wind.
    Jesus make me stop.



    Make me stop.





    Stopping,

    mark p.

    lamppoet@centurytel.net



    Mark's Blog





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