Post by glenn on Sept 26, 2006 10:15:33 GMT -6
a rusted iron fence
wrought with leaf and vine
and trimmed in razor wire
encloses a small garden
at the uneasy heart of the city
where few outside the homeless
pause to peer inside
in the quiet dark of night
entering by a hidden gate
a lone figure comes to stiffly sit
upon a concrete bench
between riven, twisted trees
bathed in the lurid light
of a single neon globe
his face downcast
he mumbles a broken prayer:
O mighty God! I fear your wrath
my lips are soiled
by words unclean and vain
in fear I watch
as the world is laid to waste
by greed and apathy
the wealthy live like kings
in palaces they dwell
and dress in finest linens
while all around the lions roar
and beggars’ tinkling cymbals ring
O God, I am a man
of empty deeds and lost
I call to thee, O mighty God
I praise thee and exalt thee
this world is but a passing stage
all that rises must someday fall
and unto the radiance of thy grace
all weeping faces must someday turn
and in the victory of thy coming
all death must pass away
wrought with leaf and vine
and trimmed in razor wire
encloses a small garden
at the uneasy heart of the city
where few outside the homeless
pause to peer inside
in the quiet dark of night
entering by a hidden gate
a lone figure comes to stiffly sit
upon a concrete bench
between riven, twisted trees
bathed in the lurid light
of a single neon globe
his face downcast
he mumbles a broken prayer:
O mighty God! I fear your wrath
my lips are soiled
by words unclean and vain
in fear I watch
as the world is laid to waste
by greed and apathy
the wealthy live like kings
in palaces they dwell
and dress in finest linens
while all around the lions roar
and beggars’ tinkling cymbals ring
O God, I am a man
of empty deeds and lost
I call to thee, O mighty God
I praise thee and exalt thee
this world is but a passing stage
all that rises must someday fall
and unto the radiance of thy grace
all weeping faces must someday turn
and in the victory of thy coming
all death must pass away
