I will not rest in my own strength –
I cannot, for it would break me.
Too frail am I to trust myself –
A faith misplaced it would be.
If my own sword won’t win the land,
God, shall I even lift it?
If providence is from Your hand,
then how may I participate?
How sweet is the light of Your face –
Your love how strange to see
that inside each love I’ve ever craved
it was Yours that called to me.
“It was not by their sword that they won the land,
nor did their arm bring them victory;
it was your right hand, your arm,
and the light of your face, for you loved them.”
~ Psalm 44:3
Written December 2014, Emma Dumitra.
Image from parentmap.com
Where shall I look for reassurance of your love?
Every cloud in the sky is of your design;
the moon and stars flew hither on your breath,
the sun a molecule of fire from your throne –
yet none of them bear a fingerprint.
Not one of them is marked by bumps and grooves
and curls of tender caress.
The sun and the angels both are pure light;
the heavenly beings and bodies all glow,
but none of them are of dust and of air,
none of them are of earthy, gritty stuff –
of breath, blood and sweat – You care
for us, the dusty, weather-worn and small,
not glorious, but placed in rank near all
the wonders, angels, gods of life and light;
You’ve crowned us with your glory in your sight.
I will not promise you an easy life,
I will not shield you from all pain,
but woe to those who delight
in your suffering.
Their gleaming joy I will swiftly trample;
with a mighty roar I will storm their boasts.
My face is ever turned toward you –
tear for tear, I match your weeping.
I will be angry, fiercely angry
at the joy of your oppressors,
for how dare they pierce your heart
and laugh with glee!
Though I have yet allowed your trials
it is crucifixion to me;
you are my loved one, loved so dearly,
and I promise: you will be free.
Psalm 7:6-8 – “Arise, O Lord, in your anger; rise up against the rage of my enemies. Awake, my God; decree justice. Let the assembled peoples gather around you. Rule over them from on high; let the Lord judge the peoples. Judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness, according to my integrity, O Most High.”
Psalm 8:3-5 – “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place; what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? You have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor.”
Written Oct. 2014, Emma Dumitra.
Photo credit: Nicole Rook.
I shall speak the wind that moves you;
I relent with every breath
the things that bind you to my vision —
all for love. What I have said
I shall release in expiration,
simply pray — and nothing else
till you shall rise to the occasion,
speak the wind in choices blown.
But whence the Rustler’s source is hidden,
unto each of us — unknown.
Written April 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from http://www.celsias.com.
A painter sits before his easel and paints.
His brush is stirred by the wind of a language
that is not words.
She brushes the dreams out of her hair
as he paints the dust upon the canvas.
They both know that the future exists — somewhere,
but it is not here.
She brushes the moment aside
as he paints all the sounds the silence makes —
and she watches the moon rise
as he tells it which shapes to take.
She blows out her candle
and where the moon he painted glowed
there is now only a waft of curling smoke;
and his brush no longer burns with dreams,
but is the silver ash of a dying wick —
and it seems
that as she sleeps he paints only the sand
inside her eyes
and forfeits painting stars into the skies.
Written April 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from wallpaperpimper.com.
Fear and Despair assemble in the Heart;
hold court with Doubt upon Wisdom’s grave.
Praise and Worship lie locked behind bars –
set them free, leave them be
to roam about with Peace again.
Justice is under new scrutiny
as Doubt, imperious, takes the Throne
and Fear holds a court of its own.
Deception cleverly fills in the gaps
of Sin’s sunken teeth and invisible traps.
But nails of a Roman Cross rise from the mud
and outline the flaws of Sin’s hold with blood.
It is written on every shard as it falls;
between Earth-Shaker’s music
the Sinner’s voice calls.
Now quakes the Assembly; no Fear holds its own
as a Heavenly Host envelops the Throne.
Justice sentences both Sin and Guilt
as with Garments of Praise the Heart is rebuilt.
Understanding and Wisdom hold hands as they come
and behind them comes Patience who has waited so long.
Then the Cross crashes into the Heart like a song
and divides and conquers the clamouring throng.
The wooden shards have pierced Despair,
and Darkness dissolves; now a River flows there.
The new Host assembles and here they all stand:
precise are both Patience and Self-Control.
Faithfulness hereby remembers all things
and with God’s companion, Wisdom, sings.
Joy bursts forth like a firework and dances
on a new grave now inscribed with this:
“Here lies the Law, here died the Sin.
Here fell every one that on Him was laid.
And may they never rise again.”
Now the way is prepared, but the door is yet locked.
The Heart is yet silent and lacking in love
until Prayer awakens to open the door.
Like a drawbridge, so lowers the Cross itself
and prepares the way for Salvation to dock.
The sound on the outside is heralds and trumpets,
then a gentle Voice is heard, and a knock.
A Prayer breaches the chasm wide
as the Sinner’s Heart lets Salvation inside.
Blinded by glory, the Assembly falls down
for before the One coming every virtue must bow.
The Great One is flanked on the left and the right:
quiet Hope holds a candle
and with something like sight
leads Faith by the hand who is blind.
Then, scorning the shame of the Cross,
crowned with thorns and the mockery
of many a Sinner who held not his tongue,
adorned with scars, enters LOVE,
and rightly the One who is LOVE takes His place.
The still Human Heart with joy starts to race.
Gone is every flaw and the ashes of every grave.
The Sinner has become a Saint, for LOVE came to save.
This new perfection none can mar,
but sometimes Sin still knocks at night –
Salvation unchanged, but virtues fall asleep;
new ashes obscure and now Fear creeps back in.
Sometimes Faith and Doubt can hold hands or grapple.
Sometimes Doubt is not followed by Sin.
LOVE announces, “Ask your questions,
for my love accepts you now.
It is every good thing without scorn.
Come, and I will take you to your place.
Only LOVE knows how to truly love;
here you are the righteous dawn to me.”
So speaks LOVE to the Human Heart.
“Come into my court and question all you want.
I assure you, my love will stand!”
Then Patience consoles, “It may yet take a while,
but eternity is on our side.
Salvation and LOVE are unconditional!
Come wait with me in the court of LOVE.”
The Human Heart grows faint with this love.
The Human Heart grows warm and awake,
though Doubt still knows what it can take.
But Hope and Faith are sentinels and speak:
Amid the noise of many courts, the Soul gives ear…
“We could all speak to you, one at a time,”
– Hope’s quiet voice ignites LOVE’s fire –
“and tell you the glory of looking on LOVE.
Between a man and a woman
or a father and child,
love in its truest form is always right
and no virtue is right without LOVE.
Invite LOVE into your house
and the whole Assembly of Virtues will follow.
Listen to them all, but listen first to LOVE.
Cross over to the Cross whenever you doubt
and leave the Assembly of Vices far behind.
LOVE is your freedom for eternity.
This is your Hope – this is who I am.
This is my gift to the human hearts.”
So speaks Hope and then floats to the rafters.
There it mingles with every good thing.
Then Truth with sword and shield comes in.
Truth opens the Word, but reads not of the Law:
“It is no longer yours to obey.”
But the Truth has yet Good News to display.
“You are LOVE’s first love, and LOVE’s last,” Truth says.
“LOVE always protects, always trusts, always hopes.
LOVE never fails you. No, LOVE never fails!
Nothing can tear you and true LOVE apart.”
So comforts Truth the Human Heart –
and the second Assembly, the final court,
choruses “Amen!” and bows low before
where LOVE bled and died for all humankind
and now lives to bleed no more.
you and I;
we love, we fight,
Each wagon wheel
a face of time.
Each pauper rich
A train of thoughts
to chase the wind,
to trail the line
as track goes by.
We love, we fight,
as spins the hour.
Where do tornadoes
get their power?
Each dawning day
an open plain
for stormy calm
to blow again.
Written August 2012, Emma Dumitra.
Image from bvilleweatherman.deviantart.com.