Unclothed Before the Fire
What happens when Christ is no longer just seen — but formed within
Twinkle-timed,
Eyes open, beholding origin,
Breath held, arms raised — surrender mimed,
Stars blazing from within.
Considerations of journeys long,
In great darkness beheld,
Amidst spiritual destitution’s subliminal song,
The Voice that Echoes in Silence dwelled.
That we, the called, would come,
Not by might, nor choice, nor plight,
Foretold before world’s matter begun,
Marching, branded — lanterns held alight.
Where we walk, in Christ’s footsteps,
Known and brutally loved,
Fastened — cross to shoulders, internal depths,
Held in truth so refined, unclothed before the fire thereof.
Hand to forehead, she sits,
Pondering eternity from the present’s perch,
Asking, seeking, receiving, as befits
A treasured child — embodied, a walking church.
From distance beyond memory,
Past shrouded in fog, thick and dense,
She considers the fullness, trembling —
The whole embodiment of Yeshua’s benevolence.
Life lived in flesh and blood,
Compassion incarnate, a healer’s touch,
Love so true it broke as if a flood,
Through untold years — souls slain as such.
What cannot be known — proclaimed,
Fully, in totality, like statued marble formed —
The Sculptor’s hand chipping away to reframe
Christ within us — fully realized and reformed.
We lay weary burdens ‘neath Shepherd’s feet,
Beholding the cross — sacrificial mercy replete,
Witnessed by death’s hope to defeat
The cycle of hatred, the lies of the elite.
Now we come,
Children all,
To praise You, Holy Father — like first rays of dawn,
Kissing temple with breath… and in humility we fall
If this poem stirred something in you, I invite you to linger a little longer in the silence…
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