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don-bouchardPoems
Three Nails (...) Not so many as to denounce A job done to make me well. Three rudimentary spikes to nail A man's own flesh to wood. Three nails cannot Seem so much to proffer; Human efforts complementing God's sacrificial offer. A self-inflicted crucifixion? Yes, I would do my part; Would do me good, I think, To offer up an offering to God. So let this painful work, Human endeavoring, Perfection capturing, Begin. A simple thing, I think, To hoist and hammer Nails into myself, A manly job to undertake Impaling self To spare my God A little work. The first, perhaps Most painful... To stop the feet Their wandering ways, To give me pause for just a bit To meditate in pain And to reflect or to project Myself in better ways. . Then on to nail number two, One hand to hold the nail And one the hammer. The pain intense Impacts my good intent. . And yet, I've nailed number two, And finding where the problem lies, I have no way to nail thrice. My living flesh begins to writhe Its will-ward way, E'en though in sky-ward Agony my soul now wails. Then I remember Someone said, "Your crucifixion stands Upon a different hill, Hangs on a different tree." . . . Though I can never end my flesh, He paid my debt for me.
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Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
Three Nails (...)
Three Nails (...) Not so many as to denounce A job done to make me well. Three rudimentary spikes to nail A man's own flesh to wood. Three nails cannot Seem so much to proffer; Human efforts complementing God's sacrificial offer. A self-inflicted crucifixion? Yes, I would do my part; Would do me good, I think, To offer up an offering to God. So let this painful work, Human endeavoring, Perfection capturing, Begin. A simple thing, I think, To hoist and hammer Nails into myself, A manly job to undertake Impaling self To spare my God A little work. The first, perhaps Most painful... To stop the feet Their wandering ways, To give me pause for just a bit To meditate in pain And to reflect or to project Myself in better ways. . Then on to nail number two, One hand to hold the nail And one the hammer. The pain intense Impacts my good intent. . And yet, I've nailed number two, And finding where the problem lies, I have no way to nail thrice. My living flesh begins to writhe Its will-ward way, E'en though in sky-ward Agony my soul now wails. Then I remember Someone said, "Your crucifixion stands Upon a different hill, Hangs on a different tree." . . . Though I can never end my flesh, He paid my debt for me.
don-bouchard
Written by
don-bouchard
66/M/American
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
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