Runoff (Meditation on the Psalms: V)

In this season of festivals and fairs

Swollen creeks and answered prayers

Toast the sparkling wine and pass the cake

We are saved for his mercy’s sake

We are here as his love’s fed fountain

As the warming ices cascade down the mountain

Rejoicing over every pebble they pass

Listen, can you hear their gushing laughs?

The heart of the penitent icicle

Flowing forth its truth now musical

Running its course, a cursive font,

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

Its shining face a bright silver thread

The spirit upon the wet pine forest-bed

Telling of things made touching the king

Come and drink from the loquacious spring

Which answers our wanderings and our tears:

From heaven to earth our prayer appears

His lovingkindness written in the book

Now meets life as pours the lively brook

Lips of praise create life’s feast

They sing and earth yields her increase

Blossoms and blooms that flood our shame

Drowning wrath if we haven’t called the name

In the holy mountains is our foundation

Where we make worship our vocation

Singers we are, players on instruments

We pour out our praises, fears, and laments

Free expression yields a deep joy

Not the midst of darkness can destroy

Lo! The field and all therein is good

Rejoicing, all the trees of the wood

Full of love they seep their resins

And I come singing before his presence

Entertaining not plated wares upon silver shelves:

It is he that made us and not we ourselves

Oh, our songs are so intertwined

Are they not two threads of but one mind?

For when I loved cursing, God let me be cursed

Loving not my soul, it was taken away first

Delighting not in blessing, yea, ‘twas far from me

So consumed was I by spite and jealousy

God loved my soul as I alone never would:

Not only do I need my orphan, but I need God’s blood

Which he lets me drink in my repentance

Sorry for my neglect, I await my sentence

Yet I’m given mercy, not what I deserve

The rivers wet the lands and he lets me serve

I love the Lord because he hears my voice

To be his tiny dewdrop I make my choice

He has loosed my bonds from the caves of He

Eyes turned from vanity: I behold his way

The dancing of the waters with the forest-glades

Streams through verdant valleys as golden braids

Lifting the indigo mountainsides above:

Great peace have they which live the law of love

In the crown of Schin shall they find no offense

Knowing only the Lord’s promise immense

That he their keeper shall not slumber

Ever preserving their souls, great in number

Exceedingly filled with the scorn of the proud,

Contempt of youthful ease, those not yet plowed

Should their soil never raise shoots toward the vault,

“It is the poor seeds and not ourselves at fault!”

But who am I, Lord, in this pastoral scene?

An innocent droplet or the proud and the mean?

You are my child, far more than imagination

So I let my precious taste my salvation

Watering with righteousness my dear priests,

Giving joy for food at my beloved saints’ feasts

For all your judges have been overthrown

About the stones their judgments lie strewn

So hear my words and taste their sweetness

Surely the land flows not from the seedless

In the wood and the waters take your pleasure

With the words and their soul make your measure

See them live and move as the butterfly

Unto my seed, with grace I beatify.

 

© 2013, Amaya Engleking

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4 comments

  1. domainofshane23 · May 31

    Excellent. This poem just gushes over with style and honesty. Reminds me a bit of the psalms

  2. Your word play illuminates the Lord in such a wonderful way!

  3. Darryl Walker Jr · December 5

    Great! I like your style – as it fuses imagery, rhyme, and the Word. I have not seen many instances of this! Keep up the good work =D Have a blessed day!

  4. Pingback: Spring Runoff | Gospel Isosceles

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