Conrad Larson

Conrad Larson Jan 29

Not as a child do I cry His name,
not with the simple, untrembling trust.
of one who has never felt the dark,
nor wrestled the weight of dust.
I have walked where silence lingers,
where prayers rise and fall like ash.
where the heavens shut like iron doors,
and faith lay broken in the past.
I have known the hollow hunger,
the terror of thought unchained.
where reason wars against the light,
and every answer ends in pain.
And Yet still
Still from the embers,
a whisper rises, fierce and true.
Not soft, not easy, not unscarred,
but burning with a deeper hue.
My Hosanna is born of fire,
of doubt that shaped my weary hands,
of questions that have scorched my lips,
of love I cannot understand.
For though I fell, though I despaired,
though night itself was all I knew.
I found Him there, within the dark
and there, in Him I began to trust

Conrad Larson Jan 29

The Heavens Bear Witness

The heavens sprawl, a boundless, burning scroll,
scribed by the hand of the Eternal.
The sky stretches vast and aching,
a hollowed-out cathedral where light and dark entwine,
where the hush of dawn spills gold upon the earth
and the hush of night unspools its veiled infinities.

The sun rises, a sovereign in flame,
dragging the day from the belly of shadow,
spilling fire upon the fields,
setting the hills alight with something ancient,
something not yet spoken but known.
It moves westward, slow and certain,
a measured arc drawn by hands unseen,
hands that shaped the first dawn,
hands that will cradle the last.

Come dusk, the heavens burn,
bruised crimson and dying gold,
the last breath of day exhaled upon the world.
Night unfurls its black vestments,
a silent dominion where stars hang cold and distant,
their light born in a time before time,
their glow a whisper of something endless.

No voice speaks, yet the silence roars.
No words are written, yet the message stands eternal.
The heavens bear their witness, unerring, unbowed,
carved in fire and shadow, wind and stone.
What mind could dream such vastness?
What voice could call forth the stars?
They sing, though no ear may hear,
and their hymn will never end.

Conrad Larson Jan 26

Owíčhakte waštélaka

I fall to my knees, my spirit bowed low,
Before the Father, whose great love I know
He names the cosmos, the oceans, the skies,
The sovereign Creator, whose wisdom defies.
Great minds and rulers of empires before,
For them true knowledge is met with closed door
What praise can they give me, what words said,
Compares with the God who raises the dead.
I’m rooted in a love that will never decay,
A fortress unyielding, unmoved by the fray
Who could fathom the mind of King,
Or measure the wonders your hands can bring.
Through Christ, the vessel of fullness untold,
I drink from the depths where mysteries unfold.
Your blessings abound, your grace unmeasured,
Your spirit within, my souls greatest treasure.
My author, my writer of story divine,
Who calls my name and says your mine.
Father of man whose voice shapes the deep,
You awaken the dawn and bring stars to sleep.
I bow before the commander of skies and seas,
Of fiery stars and whispering trees.
Here I relinquish, awed by Your might,
Lost in Your splendor, eclipsed by Your light.
My place is you with before your throne,
I’m never forsaken, I’m never alone.
To you, the dominion, unending acclaim
To you be the glory, forever the same
To you be the credit and all of the fame
Through all of my time, I’ll lift up Your name

Owíčhakte waštélaka roughly translates to Song of Surrender

Conrad Larson Jan 20

Always in Need of Grace

On days when the sun kisses your face,
And triumphs cadence warms your base.
When every deed seems sovereign, sublime,
And the world before you, bends to your rhyme.
Repose, reflect, let pride abate,
For your mortal feats cannot negate,
The unreachable depths of divine embrace;
Even at your zenith, you need His grace.
No Everest scaled, no laurel gained,
Can render grace diminished or waned.
Your finest, though bright it may burn,
Is but a flicker where grace sojourns.
For His grace eternal, transcends all height,
A luminous balm in darkest night.
It girds the soul, unseen and profound,
The ceaseless force upon which your bound.
Relinquish the myth of self-contained might,
For even the stars borrow heaven’s light.
So bow to His truth, let arrogance cease,
For none surpass the need for peace.
In life’s crescendo, His hand I trace,
Towards my father forever I give chase.
In search of my God, I’ll always keep pace,
To let my life be a heavenly showcase.
To never forget what on the cross took place,
No heights I reach will ever replace,
My unending need for his boundless grace.

Conrad Larson Jan 18

Truth in the Mind Lies

You stupid piece of nothing
The voice repeats inside,
A shadow clinging closely
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
Every mirror turns to daggers,
Every step feels out of place.
Why try when failure’s certain?
Why hope when you’re a waste?
But deeper than the venom,
Beyond the storm’s refrain,
There’s a voice that calls me softly,
Through the chaos and the pain.
You are fearfully and wonderfully made
My hands wove your heart with care.
In your darkest self-loathing chambers,
My Child, I am already there.
Before your thoughts could hurt you,
Before the shame took root,
I knew you and I loved you
You are more than what you do.
I argue with the whisper,
I drown it in my doubt.
But it waits, it doesn’t waver
Its mercy won’t burn out.
You’re not the sum of failures,
Nor the weight of what you lack.
You are My beloved creation,
On you I will not turn back.
The insults keep on coming,
But now they meet a shield
A truth that’s deep and holy,
A love that will not yield.
I am more than the echoing hatred,
More than the lies I believe.
I am known, and I am cherished,
In this truth, I’ll learn to breath.

Conrad Larson Jan 18

Spiritual Hamlet

Beneath the willow’s weeping shade,
Ophelia drifted, unafraid.
A crown of flowers graced her hair,
Yet sorrow’s weight had led her there.

The water beckoned soft and low,
Its currents pulling her to woe.
Like sin’s allure, it whispered sweet,
Yet trapped her soul beneath its feet.

Her garments heavy, drew her down,
The flow embraced her like a crown.
So too does sin, with quiet art,
Ensnare the soul, betray the heart.

The fleeting beauty she displayed,
Was like the life in sin arrayed.
A fleeting joy, a fleeting peace,
Yet death’s dark shadow will not cease.

But Christ, the Lord, has called us near,
To cast away the drowning fear.
His blood, the stream of life divine,
Redeems the heart, restores the spine.

No willow bows where grace is found,
For mercy lifts what sin has drowned.
Ophelia’s tale, though sad, may be,
A warning turned to victory.

For every heart that drifts astray,
A Savior waits to light the way.
So leave the stream, the depths, the night,
And step into His perfect light.

Conrad Larson Jan 17

Gods Fighters

Some are born not to rest, but to rise,
Not with the ease of the fearless or the strength of the wise.
But with a gift carved deep in their soul,
A fire, a grit, a warrior’s role.
It’s not in the power of muscle or might,
But in the refusal to surrender the fight.
God in His wisdom forged them in flame,
A mettle unyielding, a spirit untamed.
Life will come, relentless and vast,
Trial upon trial, a merciless blast.
They’ll bend, they’ll break, they’ll bleed, they’ll fall,
But rise again, standing tall.
Perhaps they’d wish for a gentler path,
A road untouched by sorrow’s wrath.
But warriors are shaped by battles countless,
And their enemies that stand before groundless
The hardest trials are sent to the few,
The strongest souls who will see them through.
For God’s own fighters, though battered and scarred,
Bear the weight of pain as a badge of the hard.
You may feel shattered, weak, and torn,
Yet in your struggle, strength is born.
What you’ve endured has made you strong,
A testament that pain won’t last long.
So when life’s storms rage, and hope feels thin,
Remember the steel God placed within.
Your battles have purpose, your trials a plan,
For only the toughest are called to withstand.
Do not give up, for you are His own,
A warrior of grit, forged by the stone.
Pain is a tool, shaping your right,
And you, God’s fighter, shine like a light through the night.