The voice resounds
pounding the earth
trodden by men and monster,
the grass leans to it, the trees bow to it,
the concerns of every heart foster the still small voice of a God who is there.
But in the black of blindness we forget the call
the whisper of volumes covering the earth
finding our every hiding place
appalled at the rhythm, the cadence of the voice.
Come back to me.
We stand at the gates of perdition’s flame
eyes seared in the wake, tears born from the burning ashes of those before
and through the door we would blindly stride,
save for the rhythm which flows
confide only in the melody of that voice which bids come back to me.
We find a man of like demise
propitiation throws him within our sight
and glances like daggers proceed whips broken upon his back
the voice he has
the cadence wrapped in limbs like ours, in hands which grasp to know what only the mind can see
The God who is there
spoke in silent steps becoming one to the road of suffering like the hammers which would drive the nail, broken by the weight of love
the dove of peace descending to lift him beyond our veil
tempted and tested and entering the city as the King he came to be
pail anemic complexion marred with red flesh
See the man who would be king.
Left and right in trinitarian form
voices choosing their destiny amidst a sea of roman riot.
One voice prevails
hailing like thunder upon the annals of last confessions
unseen in its power but spoken from the cross, the throne of zion.
Forgive them for they know not what they do.
In the beginning spoke the voice the words that could not be extinguished
couched in anguish, soaked in blood, torn asunder by the leather of baal, chained to creation by iron and raised in blasphemy above your children.
Ironic bail from a prison of ones own creation.
And even with no one at his side to hear his voice
no one to protect or to defend him
the darkness could not fight the voice. The darkness could not comprehend it.
The darkness could not comprehend him.
In the end
his voice stands
spoken into victory
risen into history
proof of true love
resolve of light in the darkness
He is not dead,
silent in the graveyard of humanities ambition,
one voice among the crowd of those who stood out.
His voice resounds as sure as the light of day finds every seed,
His voice tells us he is risen.
He is risen indeed.