Let there be Life.

Dark the night

Evils arise

Long the fight

The dying dies

Let the be LIGHT

Cold the grave

The heart is stone

None can save

We are alone

Let there be LIFE

He calls the dead

And tells them, “Live!”

For He has bled

New life to give.

Arise from sleep

And hear His voice

You are His sheep 

Rise and rejoice.

Ichabod: A Lament

Mighty was the fallen!
The fire burned so bright,
But it will burn no more.
The city on the hill has crumbled:
The basket hides the light.
Love was sweet.
Love was strong.
Love is cold.
Love is gone.
The glory is departed.
Richness of the gospel,
Power of the Spirit,
Lost treasures.
Doctrine,
Law,
Pillars of the church.
Exulted,
Praised;
Not followed.
No.
Rich, you call yourselves:
Rich in truth,
Rich in righteousness.
But you are poor.
You choose your truth;
You do not see the greater truth.
You speak of truth,
You do not follow it.
Your righteousness will fail.
Are you so blind?
Wrapped in filthy garments,
Raiment of your own making,
You call them robes.
White robes.
But they are shredded;
They are putrid.
They will not save you.
You name yourself "Philippi"
But you are Sardis.
You say you are alive
But you are dead.
Fallen.
The glory is gone.
The church is no more.

WAR: The Spirit and the Flesh

“Hey, girl, listen, it’s me, your friend
I know that I just saw you bend.
So I thought I’d come to call
I’d come to see you fail and fall.”

“You are my friend no more—I’m free
Sin, you are my enemy.
I have stumbled, yet I stand.
I’m upheld by my Saviour’s hand.”

“Enemy? What’s wrong with you?
You know that this, at least is true:
You’ve failed your Lord every day,
You’ve broke His law in every way.”

“You’re right—I admit this freely—
But though I fail, He will not fail me.
Accuser, tempter, child of hell
You are the king He came to fell.”

“I will not stop, I will not leave
I will fight what you believe.
I will revive the sin you slew
I will win, for I am you.”

“You were me, but you are dead.
Christ has crushed your master’s head.
Christ has come in and locked the door;
You are finished—this is war.”

“So you think you’re really strong?
You may stand, but for how long?
I’ll pull you down—you know I can
I’ll break your grasp on your God’s hand.”

“Ah, foolish sin, don’t play with me
Christ’s blood has bought my victory
No plot of hell, no mighty foe
Can ever make Him let me go.”

You have not yet resisted to bloodshed, striving against sin. 
-Hebrews 12:4

Regeneration, Transformation, Restoration...

I have this thing about "ation" words. I simply had to write a poem with them.

Children of men, do not delay
This is the time, this is the day
We are the lost, He is the way
For this is the day of His Salvation

But we have sinned and sin has cost
We are the damned, we are the lost
God drew the line, but we have crossed
This is the night of our damnation

And yet the God who gave us breath
Paid our sin-debt with His death
To make the cursed become the blessed
For Christ will have His holy Nation.

Now sinners rise, saved by His grace
By faith to run this holy race
To one day look in our God’s face
At the dawn of glorification.

The Hated Love

There was a tree long, long ago
With the power to make men know
Or so they were told, so the devil said
And so they ate, and we're born dead.
Thus man fell under the curse
And our good deeds just make it worse.

We founder in a hopeless state,
Hating love and loving hate
Ever deeper, darker we fell,
Seeking heaven to make it hell.
Forming gods that look like us,
Crooked, corrupt, mad with lust.
We call day night and night is day
But there will be a price to pay.

Evil is slow poison and it will kill
Long after the fun, beyond the thrill,
There comes the wave, then rise the flames,
And our souls fall in heavy chains.
When terror comes, when fails desire
Then death will drag us to the fire.

Oh, hopeless state!
Oh, hateful hate!
Dragged, dragged down
To darkest fate!

But who is that? Where is He from?
That stranger there--whence did He come?
He is different; He is good
So we hate Him, as haters should.

He bears with Him the hated love,
A freeing gift come from above.
He calls us wrong; He calls God just.
He reminds us we are only dust.
He is truth, but we love the lie,
So we hate Him; so He must die.

Our world is turning upside down;
Night is fading. Day must dawn.
And so we act, so we rise
And so the truth drowns in our lies.
Mercilessly, cruelly, this man we slay
Lest He bring a strange new day.

But then--what's this?
Poison, the fire's hiss--
On Him they fall, on Him, the flame,
The fear, the pain, the wrath, the shame--
Our punishment burns in His soul
The agony, the death, He bears the whole!

Over the hills breaks the daylight
Brilliant, blinding, the sun in its might.
And He returns to stand o'er His foe:
Conquered is death and hell below.
The abyss is filled, we see His face
Bringing peace, full of grace.

We are drawn up from the grave
By a God mighty to save
The hated Love is lovely now,
As before His throne, we bow.

The broken chain,
Forgotten pain,
Heaven's love:
Infinite gain.

HOPE: A free verse poem

I am alone

I tread the empty street;

Dark windows watch me

Like a hundred lifeless eyes.

Has it been three years, or a thousand

Since last I saw this site?

This was home.

All are gone.

All are dead.

Does it matter?

No.

Everyone born must die; 

The war taught me that.

I pass a bloodied corpse;

Once I would have shuddered,

Once I would have wept

But now my eyes are dry.

It was not always so,

Not in my first battles;

I mourned my comrades,

Lying lifeless in the trenches.

Nothing moves me now;

My heart died long ago.

I am cold.

Frozen in the frost of war.

Life and death are one to me;

They walk ever hand in hand.

The war is ended,

But who remains?

Who will sing the victory song?

They all have perished;

A hundred thousand unmarked graves,

And many more still unburied—

All that remains of my country.

My past lies shattered at my feet;

I have no future;

The present alone exists.

This is no time for grief,

No time for fear,

No time for pity.

It’s a time to survive.

I warm myself by smoldering house.

A stench of burning flesh—

But it’s warm,

And that is all that matters.

Snow begins to fall;

A white shroud for a murdered land.

One building yet stands;

A church, with shattered windows, 

Yet it offers shelter

The door stands ajar,

Dangling from broken hinges.

An usher slumps lifeless in the doorway.

I step over him;

I do not pity the dead, 

Nor do I fear them.

More corpses lie within;

It is a wedding,

Frozen in time.

The bride and groom lie still

Locked in an eternal embrace.

The wedding party is close at hand:

Dead. All are dead.

I take the heavy altar cloth,

Stained with the parson’s blood,

Some would call this sacrilege,

But the altar cannot freeze to death.

I can.

The cloth is thick and warm.

I curl up in a corner,

Knees drawn up,

And there I rest

Wrapped in red velvet. 

A sudden sound

Stirs me from sleep—

A soft thump,

Deep echoes fill the church.

I quickly rise

And draw my gun.

“Who’s there?”

My voice rings hollow

In the forsaken sanctuary.

Silence answers me.

Ghosts?

The thought stirs no fear in me.

Fear is weakness;

I left it on the battlefield,

Slain together with my humanity.

No phantom can harm me;

Men like I have no souls.

I am alert.

My senses are battle-sharpened.

No sound can escape my ears.

I hear a faint whimpering

A dying animal?

I creep towards it

On hands and knees

Gun ready,

I am back in the trenches,

Crouched behind enemy lines,

Seeking my foe.

Something stirs beneath a pew.

I jerk back.

I kneel,

Look under;

Two blue eyes stare back

Wide with terror.

A child’s eyes, a child’s face,

A child’s had reaching for mine.

 I am hardened, cold, and cruel

Yet I cannot turn away.

The child crawls out;

A little girl.

Her ruffled white dress,

Stained with blood,

Her tangled black curls,

Her dirty, tear-stained face

All speak of last night’s horror.

But her eyes have lost their fear.

I hold out my arms to her;

Why? I do not know.

She comes,

Leaps into my arms,

Clings tightly to my neck.

I take her in my arms.

She is crying.

My eyes are wet.

I thought I had no more tears;

I was wrong.

Sobs. 

Her sobs mingle with mine,

A child’s voice and a man’s

Blend in a lament 

A dirge for a country bathed in blood.

I feel my heart breaking—

The heart I did not know I had.

I stood, lifting the little girl

Around her trembling shoulders,

I wrap the altar cloth.

A single ray of sunlight

Shines through the open door.

I look out into the sunrise,

A fresh wind has scattered the clouds. 

The child clings to me;

I cradle her in my arms.

She is a survivor,

Like me.

I leave the church.

I tread the silent streets again,

Carrying the little girl.

The deep peal of a bell rings out

Loud and clear.

Again and again it sounds,

The winds rushes through the steeple 

Stirring the great church bells.

On I walk,

Leaving the dead city behind

Under the tolling of funeral bells.

I stride boldly out into the rising sun.

The past has perished,

The future awaits me,

And I am ready to face it

Together with this child.

She whispers her name in my ear:

“Hope”.

The Twelve Days of Calvinism

This is intended entirely for fun. As a full fledged five-pointer, I do not intend to make fun of Calvinism or of reformed churches (I do attend one, after all).
That said, feel free to sing as you read:

On the first day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me....
A sermon on Soteriology.

On the second day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology.

On the third day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the fourth day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the fifth day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the sixth day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the seventh day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Seven Puritan writings
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the eighth day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Eight theology bloggers
Seven Puritan writings
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the ninth day of Calvinism my reformed church gave to me...
Nine Marks from Dever
Eight theology bloggers
Seven Puritan writings
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the tenth day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Ten Macarthur hymnals
Nine Marks from Dever
Eight theology bloggers
Seven Puritan writings
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the eleventh day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Eleven Presup arguments
Ten Macarthur hymnals
Nine Marks from Dever
Eight theology bloggers
Seven Puritan writings
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

On the twelfth day of Calvinism, my reformed church gave to me...
Twelve men street preaching
Eleven Presup arguments
Ten Macarthur hymnals
Nine Marks from Dever
Eight theology bloggers
Seven Puritan writings
Six elders leading
FIVE POINTS OF GRACE
Four books by Crossway
Three Getty's songs
Two Scottish preachers
And a sermon on Soteriology

PASSION (A Poem)

Could I write the passion down,
The Spirit's blazing flame,
The page should fall to ashes,
In terror of the word.

Could I speak the love of Christ,
The glory of His name,
The earth should fade to dust
By power of the word.

I cannot speak such majesties,
For I am not but dust,
I cannot raise my eyes
And look in Glory's face.

So I lift my feeble praise,
And in His word I trust
To someday sing a better song
And look in my God's face.