Thunder

Oh, Lord, I am so sorry to be
such a son of thunder,
my blood boils at the tyranny
Your flock endures from
these clerical stones in the road,
who will not enter the way
or let anyone journey near
unless running over them at full speed.
When will you free us
from these prison guards
parading in your name,
piling up punishment
beyond the grave?

I could shout this from
every roof top
for miles and miles around,
if it would do any good.
I know this is not Your way
but alas,
 I still am a thunder cloud
on the horizon,
black and menacing,
I hope to bother You
so You cannot resist
the noise of this silent storm
rumbling indignation from below.

Broken

All the broken people
hidden away in winter's chill
emerge in the spring sunshine
walking the streets.
We pass by
the young girl, heavy with flesh
repulsing the advances of
the lustful,
talking out loud to herself
eyes straight forward
determined.
Later, when I see her again
she is participating intensely
in a full blown drama
live with audio bits
gives me a glance, a mere
audience member who quickly
exits.

All the broken people
wandering but not different
none of us being born
under warranty
replacement parts available
upon request,
the completely new model
only possible under
certain conditions.

We all have broken days
silently patched together
sometimes very vocal.
We move together through time
carrying our burdens,
sharing the pain made bearable
with Him who gives us strength
each day to turn the other cheek
to being struck or broken
and in need of mending.

We Be Sheep

We be sheep,
this phrase echoes inside me
 a mysterious chant like thread
through my thoughts
these days.

We be sheep,
at the mercy of shepherds
some who care and suffer
in their search for safe pastures,
green and fertile
where we may safely graze.

We be sheep,
who often are led
by harsh shepherds
who treats us as goats,
leading us to sharp ravine valleys
up to finger hold rocky slopes,
left to the elements
beating us, often drenched
shivering and deserted.

We be sheep
found by the Good Shepherd
He calls to us in our distress,
we will not be lost,
it is ours to endure
sometimes dying and sad
always loved and
carefully cherished.