I am neither a Samaritan or a Jew.
I can neither claim the glory of the rejected, nor he pride of the chosen.
I am watching the grace of a man, the maps of glory.
And a woman clothed in shame, the bath of iniquity.
The prophecies that play on our tongue, raising dust in our eyes.
Water. Life. Thirst.
I have love somewhere in this darkness.
If the fire would rage,
let it take me down too
Let it happen, in fiery tongues.
The Pentecost on this gathering
The wine and the heat.
Let it happen – the flapping beats of unrestrained music.
Fanning embers in our heart, doing the father’s will.
Joel in a drinking spree, of blinding visions
Singing daughters and wailing sons .
Paul felt the light, in pure love and hurt cells.
In multiple crystals of truth, the testaments that rise
As dough in pans
To look at us in painful scenes.
A marathon of goals on trails of sweat, blood
The papers and the gods of old.
Bending up as Barnabas and Mercury…
This enigma on the lips of babes and disciples.
Selah.
