WHY I PRAISE
BY LIMITLESS
My Spirit rests, as I’m relieved from my press,
“ALLELUJAH”!
Praises lift;
The seeded clouds begin to drip their abundance of blessing
An up draft circulates filling each drop of promise with faith,
The shower of grace comforts my face; I’m brought low lying abased before my King.
A joining of corporate worship uplifts my soul into an overwhelming state of adoration for my LORD,
His goodness;
His mercy;
His love;
Towards ME,
Is the reason,
I praise.
(PS 8:3-4) Rings true when the writer testifies of the magnificent glory of GOD; reminding us how we all should stand in such awe
“When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him”?
Before
By Edward Taylor III
Before the establishment of time,
Before the Earth was founded,
Before the stars were placed all around it,
Before the land parted the deep,
Before man learned the power of speech,
Before the decay of sin,
Before death crept in,
Before the lamb was slain,
Before Christ endured the pain,
Before the forgiveness of shame,
Before there where days,
GOD IS…
Addiction
By Edward Taylor III
Souls wandering the streets, no home, no rest, slaves to their feet: feet worn & bruised beating the pavement.
Souls searching for their escape from realities harsh truth, addicted to the fantasy, addicted to hopeless freedom & its seductive touch, addicted to pleasure, sins sudden rush…
Souls only satisfied with one moment in time, but lost forever, Souls wandering the streets, no home, no rest, slaves to their feet.
Do you see them…?
Do you see them wandering? Alive while yet dieing, ravenous for the thrill, the feeling of flying:
Flying away from the hurt & the pain, flying away from the memories of the shame, which haunts every sober moment…
Souls wandering the streets, no home, no rest,
slaves to their feet…
A Sorrowful Dance
By Edward Taylor III
A Sorrowful dance in the wind, performed by an excluded soul lost in sin, tears fall as pirouette’s call to the lost soul,
hopelessness twirls with blind perception, darkness calls with a malicious obsession.
Broken inside, strength subsides, to a sorrowful dance in the wind.
“Where is the comfort, the loving embrace, who will wipe these tears from my face?”
Under the stars you can see the dancer scarred:
Leaping to grasp the joy seemingly so far out of reach, distant as the mocking moon, silent & sweet,
Who is this that dances with sorrow in the wind?
The motions of this dancers’ gloom ignite the fierceness of question: “Where is my hope, where is my solace, where…
WHERE?”
The ground is struck, pounded by clinched fists,
“NO MORE!”
Is the cry as the dancer sits, drenched in sweat & self-regret: with eyes to the sky & arms raised the dancer is lifted up by the wind to dance once again,
Then a whisper is heard in the night sky:
“Hold on my dancer your salvation draws nigh”…
Taylor's Poetry Corner 