The bridegroom is at the door

Such a long wait in the dark
Lamplight and love
Fuel for the fire of longing 
For Him to arrive

How long?
Tired eyes anxiously looking
At how much oil is left
To keep the lamp lit

What is that sound?
A midnight cry: 
'Here's the bridegroom! 
Come out to meet him!' 

At last to come in
But O what is that din?
The door is now shut
To those whose oil has run out

There is a day
There is an hour
So keep your lamp alive
Whilst waiting for Him to arrive

The wolf is at the door

The wolf is at the door
Hungry for more than we have
Waiting for a weakness to show itself
And then to attack and quickly devour

The barbarians are at the gate
Rattling sword and shield
Baying for blood
And a sacrifice beyond imagining

The enemy within
Prowls around a beating heart
Like a fox waiting to pounce
When love is at its ripest

gifted

the gift
not the giver
is revered

the created
not the
Creator
is held up
high

o my

the gifted
creature
is hurled
from such heights
and spins
spiralling down
into deepening
darkness

sun-soaked stains
seep deep
from consciousness
to unconsciousness

sleeping so tightly
and sometimes
to dream
of heaven's
window

o where are you
in the day?

lost in the vast
universe
of the unmade
Maker

the uncreated
Creator
waits and watches
and weeps

that your sleep
may not be
the sleep
that is unto
death

Nicodemus goes public

Today I saw ...

Today I saw a graveyard of Christmas trees
Trees Christmassy no more
Stripped
Lying on forlorn sides
Waiting for the shredding
The shattering of needle and bark
Remembering better days
Of sparkling, twinkling lights, and rounded laughter
And so many gifts scattered close in celebration
Did it make the cutting down worthwhile?
Did no one say about the cold and the wind and the dark
And the bitter, bitter waiting for non-existence?

The only hope
Is resurrection