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twenty-three


The Lord is my shepherd,
so why do I feel wanting? 
Why is life so daunting 
if he's by my side? 
The Lord is my shepherd, 
so why is sin still taunting? 
Why is guilt still haunting 
me? God knows I've tried. 

 I've seen the greener pastures;
I've drunk from the calmer waters. 
The problem isn't the color or motion 
it's that I'm always there, where I've
needed these legs broken again and again,
still I forget the comfort of your discipline and 
run from your rod and run from your staff 
with sheepish dismay, though you've loved me through my past,
my future, and
even this indefinite present... 

If the Lord fills my table, 
then why does life feel hollow? 
Is it so hard to swallow 
that faith gives sight, not the sun? 
But my God is good and mercy. 
In hard pursuit he follows. 
Though I flee, sick and shallow, 
there's nothing I could outrun 

(much less eternity)

Now I'm in the greenest pastures, 
drinking from those quiet waters. 
The problem isn't the blades or the molecules, 
it's that I'm still here, 
I'll always be here, where I 
need you to break this heart, again and again,
lest I forget the ways that brokenness mends and 
flee your rod and run from your staff 
with sheepish dismay, though they make beautiful my past,
my future, and
this unyieldable present... 

A leaky cistern is all I can give: 
break it down and make it your sieve. 
Crush the servant who hates to forgive - 
kill me, I'll live, God, kill me; I'll live. 
This broken cistern's all that I give; 
smash this heart and make it your sieve. 
Tear down this will that hates to forgive - 
kill me, I'll live, God; 
slay me or I'll never live. 

Even though I walk through the shadow of death,
even though I walk: not an if but a when. 
Even though I walk through the shadow of death, 
in your house forever: not an if but a when. 

Nota Bene: I am not a technical poet. As in most things, I tend to emote before I know what I'm doing. Ergo, critiques of that specific a nature will probably take me a few weeks to decipher, though I appreciate any input.
Read More 4 Missages | scribbled by Unknown edit post

4 Missages

  1. Megan Langham on November 15, 2011 at 4:08 PM

    Thank you, Anna.

    That's all.

     
  2. Abigail Hartman on November 15, 2011 at 4:15 PM

    That...was beautiful. It felt like it was written for me. To echo Megan: thank you.

     
  3. (hannah) on November 15, 2011 at 5:48 PM

    I'll pull a trick from a friend "words fail me"
    so I'll only iterate what was said.
    It was beautiful.
    Thank you for sharing it.

     
  4. Jenny Freitag on November 15, 2011 at 7:02 PM

    Even though I walk through the shadow of death,
    even though I walk: not an if but a when.
    Even though I walk through the shadow of death,
    in your house forever: not an if but a when.


    This all stabbed me over and over so that I know what Caesar must have felt (but it was a coming-alive sort of stabbing, you know?) but that last stanza stabbed me most of all. I have been thinking about it: death, looming over us all, the last, greatest pain, the last, greatest unknown, looming dark and certain over us all. I've been thinking about being beyond that, having the last, greatest, darkest, painfulest unknown behind us. To step through the veil into eternity, awaiting a new time, but having come through the shadow, having that behind you at last. The last Last of all behind.

    Thank you. Ever so much.

     


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