And has there ever been, from birth
Any moment, or breath,
Some collision of word, or flesh,
That was ever anything of worth
Without You wrapped in it?
We dig our gardens, our graves,
Passing our rote to little minds,
Studying tides, and stars, and all kinds
Of grasping, assuming we’re saved
By our tasks and do we miss You?
Let the floods commence
Eroding our mud breaches
Folding in on what we teach is
Our greatest recompense:
The surviving members of creation.
You will come with mighty roar
Like the oceans we adore
And our proud knees will drop
And our hard hearts will stop in our proud chests
On the dry shores of our vested interests.
Will we forget our complex knots?
Our webs of assent, the tangles
Of all the wisdom we’ve mangled
And all the lies we’ve bought,
And peddled.
Even so, Lord Jesus, come.
viewingcamelot 