By Bicpen
Sin is a furious enemy, it
Twists the heart to do evil. There is one
Enemy yet to be faced; its name will
Strike fear into the soul of every man.
Death is his name. Through sin he is designed
To separate, tearing the body and
Soul asunder; there is no escape but
We can defeat him. In faith we have our
Hope, no more living in the despair of
Unrighteousness; believe on the blood of
Jesus, who died that death might not survive.
~.~
Defeated that enemy of darkness,
Brought life where death once prevailed. We do not
Struggle, we submit and relinquish sin’s
Grip. In death, we live because of Christ and
What he did; together we rise to that
Celestial home, crossing the Jordan with
Full assurance, welcomed to the Father’s
Paradise. Free from destruction and its
Wrath; never to set foot on unhallowed
Ground again, before the presence of God.
" ... Only through submitting to death, then, will
We see ourselves fully satisfied ... "
| Author Notes | Death is but a messenger sent from the Father. |
By Bicpen
Do you see? I see!
Do you hear? I hear!
Figure of insignificance
strong and drawn,
rise.
I know him, I know him; he is my Father.
~.~
I see, I hear!
My prison of death's shadow;
like Father like son.
So my vision seeks reaching through the loss,
my Father is not he; he is me.
~.~
Cold flesh corpse's decay, maggots rejoice;
dead men's bones you say,
but how? I am alive!
~.~
Cast your teeth upon my soul;
eat and have your fill.
Do you see? I see!
Do you hear? I hear!
~.~
An open grave is my warmth;
lay still and drink my vile filth.
My name is sin:
throughout
all
my
will.
| Author Notes | A very real experience. |
By Bicpen
A ring of gold, one band and colours three,
symmetry encompassing love and life.
My mother, a widow, also his wife;
I was but seventeen, his son, he leaves.
A great gift he gave, his respect bequeathed;
to know him more deeply would have been nice.
A ring of gold, one band and colours three,
affectionately, never out of sight.
A father to his children, I now teethe
as beyond my soul's painful wounds I fight;
at night my tears for him are always right.
I adoring will to his figure cleave,
a ring of gold, one band and colours three.
By Bicpen
So let all thine enemies perish
O Lord, but let them that love him be like
The sun when he goeth forth in his might.
Another soul now gone to meet her holy
King, a mother of Israel freed from
The great weight of sin. Much loved here on earth
For all the victories she had won,
Death awaited in the silence of
Life. Death awaited to bring her down; death
Could never steal her righteous golden crown.
Awake, awake, a mother of Israel;
Awake, awake, utter a song. Now before
The throne your prayers of faith are fully known.
For all the toil here on earth, Christ the
King has proved your worth. Enter in blessed
Mother; gone to meet the host of heaven.
Awake, awake, a mother of Israel;
Awake, awake, utter a song. Now at
Rest in that celestial home, make yourself
Heard in the song of the redeemed.
We thank the Lord for all your love; now
Your name known, engraved on the Lord's white stone.
Till we meet again, Christ forever reigns.
“ ... O my soul that has trodden down strength ... ”
| Author Notes | After burying my grandmother an seeing the tears of one particular mourner haunting words searched my mind. They were, "see how they loved her." |
By Bicpen
Arrayed in beauty she displays her grace;
Somewhat profound and quiet, full of might.
Her petals tell her story, stern her pace;
Her scarlet bloom delights in heart, much sleight.
Her twisted tail begins, it grows, her cloak;
Each thorn is sharp, a cruel bitter face.
Each thorn is sharp, a hurt, she grows, such hope;
Delighting through her summer joy, her place.
Her life is full, a hopen simple rose;
Reminds of Gods own Son, much love him broke.
Our sins and written law his Fathers blows,
His cup in fullness drink or thorns they choke.
Exalt the Father’s throne, beloved come;
Because submitting, never work undone.
| Author Notes |
Based on the thoughts of an old flame it describes a greater love.
The structure is built around that of the Italian and Spenserian sonnet with a rhyme scheme (a.b.a.b., c.a.c.a., d.c.d.c., e.e.) Hopen: a Dutch variant on the English word hope or hopingly...hence, the Volta 9th. line. Beloved: pronounced as 3 syllables "be/lov/ed" |
By Bicpen
Ever tried to look inside that cup, deep
And crimson bought with blood. It is a cup
Best drunk slowly, for every drop has a
Meaning. Its taste is sweet to those that drink,
But to him there was a bitter twist; brought
Life where death prevailed. What manner of love
He had, for to drink such a cup. It was
A love forged in heaven. A love for a
People chosen. You will see when you look
Inside that cup; full of burden, woe and
Sorrow. It’s a cup best lifted by the
One who drinks in faith, the weight would sink the
Man that held it high; humble the man that
Knows the truth. Wrath did fill that holy cup;
Righteousness emptied that cup. My grip could
Not hold it, except he lifts it with me;
My lips could not taste, lest he did make me.
“ ... Ever tried to live that cup ... ?”
| Author Notes | My impressions of the fellowship cup of the Holy Communion. |
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