The deep inner workings of a beggar's mind

Clay

In the light of the dawn,
The night-creatures move on,
Seeking shelter among fallen trees.
As the day cuts away
At the dark and dismay
Kings and peasants both fall on their knees.
Across the spectrum of lies
They ingest and despise,
A bright shining Light does appear
And destroys all the gloom
From the grave to the womb
That they cherish so much year to year.
In the view of the Light
The Darkness cannot fight
As its power is drained from its hand,
But the pieces of clay,
Meant to thrive in the day,
Seek shelter in caves made of sand.
They love what they’ve done
Content to bathe in their dung
Never nursing that bright little spark.
The Light makes them free,
But too often they’ll be
Overcome by the will of the Dark.
Unwilling to change,
The clay gets deranged
And continues to slit its own wrists.
Bleeding curses and pain,
The clay cries in dismay
Stopping only to shake its small fists.
When will the clay learn
It’s designed to burn
With a fire that brightens the night?
When will they awake
And not hesitate
To abandon themselves to the Light?
The chains have been broken,
The Light has now spoken
With words that did shatter the grave.
Yet even when they choose life,
Darkness causes much strife,
Seeking death for the ones who were saved.
In this battle for control
Darkness does not have a hold
Except in the clay’s blemished parts,
But the Light seeks to clean
And repair what is seen
And strengthen the clay’s feeble hearts.
As the war burns within
Between righteousness and sin,
The clay will not break or buckle
As long as they stand
With the Light in their hand
And the Cross as their focus through struggle.

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2 responses

  1. Kenneth

    Your work amazes me as well. thanks for keeping with it.

    January 9, 2009 at 22:37

  2. Loren Fay.

    i like this alot.

    April 15, 2009 at 22:51

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