Thursday, February 9, 2012

Though he slay me, I will hope in him

O that the soul had form, to rise out of this chest and wrench its long arms over its body, to scream to burst, to die the death

To scream the scream hidden inside the folds of my gentile life

My soul would erupt the darkest shadows with its low howl pitch.

I cry out day and night, longing for its escape

Under covers I repeat the ungodly words

Lies fears retold stories

…she is born: to bear purposely pain she’s daddy’s distain…

The chant rocks my eyes to sleep, my very own lullaby

But I do not sleep

You do not have me, your spirit makes heavy my mind

I beg for dreams of your love

Save me from this despair that eats away my flesh

Rescue me!

I drift, help comes not, why do you slay me?

By day I walk with no strength all spent from heaving up soul

I lay slain in the room, you have put me there

I go again to the dark undercover shadows and repeat the prayer

Would you come this time?

Give me my ‘yet’ to believe the Steadfast love never ceases

The faith to fuck off despair

To decide to declare in the midst of dead trees

Cold earth

Empty hearts

Open graves

Hope would never play here with this barren woman, the weeper

Prayer would just be rejected as an alien transplant

I still repeat

Into your hands do I commit my spirit

For you are my rock and my fortress

You have known the distress of my soul

Be gracious, O Lord, for I am in distress

My eye is wasted from grief

My soul and my body also

I am spent from sorrow

Yet I trust in you, O Lord,

I say “You are my God.”

My times are in your hand

Rescue me from the anguish of this brokenness

Make your face shine on your servant

Save me in your steadfast love!

Oh, how abundant is your goodness,

For which you have stored up for your children,

Blessed be the Lord

Be strong soul, let your heart take courage

Wait on the Lord (taken from Psalm 31)

Though the fig tree should not blossom

Nor fruit be on the vine

The produce of the olive fail

And the fields yield no fruit

The flock be cut off from the fold

And there be no herd in the stalls

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord

I will take joy in the God of my salvation

God, the Lord, is my strength;

He makes my feet like the deer’s

He makes me tread on my high places. (Taken from Hab 3)

Though he slay me, I will hope in him. (Job 13:15)

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