A weathered chain interwoven with barbs.

My rusting chains
enslave me.

i am beaten
with the rigors
of life.

i am auctioned
on the block.

An ode to
gold and silver
is my dirge.

No one pays
the Price on
my head.

There is only
one end-
i am nothing
to be used
and tossed away.

The Son offers his shoulder.

i dig a
tomb in my
Hope’s dark fuse
lies cold
and buried.

Why have i
turned from Him?

The Master is not my master-but he pays the Price!
His heart is pierced because he knows my sin-
He sealed my ransom with sanguine scarlet.

My head tucks in Shoulder’s hollow, spent from my struggle.

Jesus, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, my true Master,
paid my ransom and more, royal blood for a peasant’s life.
Pure love, a king’s life for my own!
All my stripes worn by Him.

All to Him I owe.

The sun rises over the river

Morning mist whispers
waiting for dawn,
gather together in earnest.

Birds sing sparsely,
tuning instruments,
awaiting Conductor’s cues.

Solemn trees bestir,
rousing from slumber,
uprooting forest dreams.

Flowers turn,
seeking truth,
searching for life renewed.

Apropos Sun emerges from shadow,
ringing joy’s bell,
new day begins brighter still.