Dark Night, The Millstone, Valley of Dry Bones

Dark Night

You were despised, rejected.
So was I.
You know the deep and desolate
pain of unworthiness and shame.
Bitter and hollow.
You bore it for me.
Why would you do that,
glorious and beloved Son of God?
You had never felt rejection from the Father;
You were always Worthy and Beloved.
Adored and Blessed.

And yet You chose to taste my death,
my bitter herbs, my stale bread,
my polluted water.
You cried the tears and felt the lash
of tongues and punishment
for crimes untold.
You chose to identify with me.
Who am I?
A nothing no one wanted, try as they might.
And You, the holy Son of God,
rejected for being who You are–
You know what it’s like.

Son of God.
Such a coveted place,
such a place I desire and dream of,
and do not experience!
As soon as the dog barks,
I am seen as broken and deficient,
as I have always been.
You came to this place of your own accord.
Why? I know in this grown up head of mine.
But what of me here? Here I am small,
in this dark and lonely bedroom of existence–
A place of punishment for being child.

I am child.

But whose child?
Unwanted and a mystery undisclosed.
I desire to remain unseen.
To keep the sanctity of my being in a safe,
locked and inviolate;
but I am not unviolated.
I have been soiled, discarded, scarred,
And left to bleed unheard in the dark–
A bleating lamb.

Lamb of God–
You too were soiled, discarded, scarred
And left to bleed unheard in the dark–
A bleating lamb
on a cross of shame.

My cross.
Naked and spit upon.
Unusable, ruined.
I go down to the grave with you.
Rejected.

Hide me in You, Jesus.
I am afraid of the dark,
even though I choose to remain here in this death.
Am I hidden in You?
I’m hidden with You in the belly of the earth.
Where is the comfort?
Is there any comfort in the bowels of death?

Every time I try to come back to life,
I feel the pain of arrows again!
Every word, every look
A lance through the heart, a blow to the belly.
And I go back down to the darkness of hiding.
And yet Your visitation here
Eternally stands as a memorial
to Your embrace of humanity,
to Your embrace of me.

The Millstone

Woe to them through whom the offense comes!
Woe to them who destroy my little ones.
Woe, woe, woe.

The vulture circles over the carrion.
The stench of death rises from the broken,
The litter of the aborted ones.
Woe, woe, woe cries the eagle of God
Whose eyes see into the distance and the dark.

Who can hide from my Seeing eyes?
Who can hide from the Great Judgment?
Who can bear the weight of the millstone?
Their necks will break,
And they will drown in the tears of the ones they have slain.

Who will be My Intercessor?
Who will be the City of Refuge
For the murderers to run to–
Those who have committed crimes of passion?

I will be the Intercessor, cries the Son of God!
I will be the City of Refuge.
Run to me, you who are crushed
Under the weight of Woe–
Whose necks are broken by the millstone,
Who drown in the tears of the slain.

How long, cry the aborted ones, how long
Until our blood is avenged?
How long until we are salvaged from the wrecks of humanity
And delivered from the carrion birds?
How long until the stench is changed
To the perfume of life?
Hope is deferred, hope is deferred
And our hearts are sick.
How long? How much longer?

I have sent my Word to avenge you,
My little ones.
My two-edged Sword, with Death and Life,
Is in the tongue of my Son.
His vengence is pure.

How, oh Lord, can the Holy One who takes vengence
Be the one who is the City of Refuge?
When will we understand?

Anyone who enters the City of Refuge
Enters by the Sword of the Word.
Evil must die.
It must die now or later.
My sword is Death, and it is also Life
To them that run to Me.

The Sword came forth on the Tree of Disgrace.
Father forgive them, for they know not!
Woe to those who do not Live by the Sword,
for they will Die by it.
Woe to you aborted ones if you do not accept
My vengence–
For it is holy.
Woe, woe, woe to those
Who do not forgive much,
For they have been much loved.

We repent oh, Lord.
We invite the carrions birds to finish off our dead flesh.

The Valley of Dry Bones

Here we lie in the hot sun.
No life in us.
No death.
Nothing.
We have been picked clean.

The Son beats down on us,
Purifying fire.
We can do nothing.
We are not even branches.
We bear no fruit.
No evil,
No good.
We await the Prophet’s word.

A hot wind arises,
A thunderous fury
As the Rider of the White Horse
Advances.
The Kingdom of God
Is at hand

Let there BE LIFE!
DRY BONES ARISE!
You will live My Life,
You will speak My Words,
There is nothing left of you
But the foundation I have built.
You will do My bidding.
You will walk in My Glory.
You are My Army.
You are bone of My bone,
Flesh of My flesh.
You are My great Body,
Formed from the skeleton of suffering–
All that is left from the death of self.

poems and artwork by Karen Gladys Henry
©2001/2009 All Rights Reserved.

You Are The Treasure

You Are The Treasure

You are a jewel more precious than any
Magnificent splendor. Your facets are many.
You sparkle with wisdom, virtue and glory–
Life irreproachable, flooded with light.
Lord, make us holy so we may approach You
And worship within your unbreachable might.
You are the treasure, Love beyond measure,
Worth inexpressible, Father of Light.

You have been kind and beckoned us come–
(Though we’ve been blind, deaf, crippled and dumb–
Powerless just like the idols we served)
Through the Door in the heavenlies, grant undeserved.
There is no darkness in You at all.
Your presence consumes each occlusion and flaw.
We are your jewels prepared for the Lord:
Cut, polished and set by the two-edged Sword.
You are the treasure, Love beyond measure,
Worth inexpressible, Father of Light.

You are a gemstone: rainbows of fire
Fill us with fearsome awe and desire.
Pure in perfection, your sevenfold light
Transforms us with visions of heavenly sight.
We are enthralled by your radiant ruth,
Forever absorbed in the love of the Truth.
You are a jewel more precious than any
Magnificent splendor. Your facets are many.
You are the treasure, Love beyond measure,
Worth inexpressible, Father of Light.

by Karen Gladys Henry © 2004

Artwork "The Emerald Throne" is a photo composite

by Karen Gladys Henry © 2008. All Rights Reserved.

Inside The Box

Inside the Box

From the outside
It looked like dowdy
Not at all unusual
Gray cardboard
But you said it was
Special, just for me
Not impressed, I
Puzzled about
Your strangeness
Yet, intrigued
I finally got in
Trusting you just
Not wanting restrictions
Or lack of oxygen
Enough to risk it

What a surprise
That was even more
Mind-bending
Than expected or
Imagined
Even from you
Inside bigger
Than outside
Vistas of grandeur
Breathtaking beauty
You must have tried
Really hard to make
It just what I wanted
No cramping at all
Yes, what a surprise

I keep finding, though
Another smaller box
Just as plain and normal
Looking as boxy as I
Would expect a box to
Be, but knowing you,
I’ll go in to even huger
Territory. How do You
Do this, anyway?
Dumb question, I guess
Considering who
I’m asking. This one
Looks too small
To even cram my big
Toe into. But here goes–

by Karen Gladys Henry © 2006

"Inside The Box" illustration by Karen Gladys Henry © 2009

my photos of the Blue Ridge Mountains and crotchet lace, plus:

http://www.dreamstime.com/gift-box-rimage6943119-resi122770

The White Stone

There You stand, majestic and mercy-minded,

in the ferocious white radiance of Your judgment hall.

Eyes of the Lion, fierce, yet love-gentled,

beckon me;
I proceed until the peace of Your
fearsome
proximity
washes over me in hushed powerful rivers of wind.

I hold out my hand in response to Your thought~

~In my palm You place an oval white stone,

opaline, yet priceless in its stability.

I gaze upon it in wonder,

as it begins to carve upon itself,

in eloquent soft fire, the noble new name

You had promised me long ago.

The jewel offers me its perpetual memorial

of light.

My heart beats triumphantly

for the many trials and struggles

that have won this name for me, humbly~

~for without Your constant aid

I would still have failed.

You close your strong, graceful,

scarred hands slowly around mine~

~the stone pulsing with a living warmth.

You look deeply into me~

my heart, my entire life~

~and in Your sonorous, joy-ringing voice

You say, "Well done."

Your smile wraps around me

in a king-brotherly embrace.

As this vision of hope solidifies

within me,

I advance towards You,

tension-fighting with yes and no.

"I know", Your eyes say~"Come."

Presently, You place a hot, rough stone

in my hand~
a huge raw garnet that glows

carmine and heavy~
like Your blood.

And the stone says,

with Your blissful-sad-lovely voice,

"I forgive you. Do not give up."

*******

Karen Gladys Henry ©2004
*******

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.

To him who overcomes I will give some of the hidden manna to eat. And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it." Revelation 2:17