Tag Archives: Mantle

FALLEN FRUIT

7 Oct

 

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23

Stepping up to an office,

Stationed by God,

I stand in the valley of change.

Casting down yesterday’s garments,

Putting on the mantle of righteousness,

Sending out the proclamation,

The ways of the past are cut off,

Tomorrow we walk anew.

Many are the voices of comfort,

That come against me.

My shield drops in disappointment.

The arrows of discontent,

And false accusation wound me,

Causing my fruit to be pierced,

And fall down around my feet.

Then, I recognize the voice,

Not the voice of the brethren,

Only the vessel,

Confused for a season.

It is the voice of the enemy.

I cast off hurt as I raise my shield.

Many fruit have fallen,

My branches are broken and splintered,

But next to the wounds are buds of hope,

Watered by the words of the spirit,

Preparing the branches for an abundance,

Of new fruit.

Written 2-7-2001

Generations

17 Jan

Generations

Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me;                                                             Exodus 20:5

 —-

Thou shewest lovingkindness unto thousands, and recompensest the iniquity of the fathers into the bosom of their children after them: the Great, the Mighty God, the Lord of hosts, is his name,                                                                Jeremiah 32:18

 —-

The weight of the sins,

     of generations past,

     burden my shoulders.

 —-

I am tempted and swayed,

     toward an evil I don’t understand,

     and yet I crave.

 —-

I carry the mantle of a cursed generation,

     passed down,

     father to child,

     a covenant of sin.

     In which generation do I fall,

     3rd, 5th, maybe 7th?

 —-

The shadow of a cross

     falls across the path,

     I’ve been destined to walk.

     It breaks the pulling of the grave.

 —-

As I look to the man hanging thereon,

     calling my name,

     I feel the mantle lighten.

 —-

Resting at His feet,

     I look upward,

     into His pain wracked face;

     the blood from His pierced hands,

     falls on the mantle I carry,

     breaking the chains that hold it there,

     releasing the shell,

     it falls to the ground.

 —-

His eyes watch and question,

     “Will you pick it back up?”

 —-

Within my womb rests a nation.

     Their destiny rests within the choice,

     I must make.

     Their blessing or cursing

     rests in the power

     of my decision.

 —-

Do I pick up the mantle

     of my fathers,

     or wear a crown of thorns,

     adorned with the ruby red drops

     of the Savior’s blood,

     one day to be traded

     for a crown of gold.

 —-

There, at the foot of the cross,

     lay the empty shell,

     a wicked generation

     left behind  –  cleansed

     by the flow of blood.

—-