Not Yet
The words are spoken
so easily to our children,
another delayed promise
or perhaps an attempt to buy time.
But the requests only intensify,
much to our exasperation.
And when those same words
are spoken, or rather implied
for lack of verbalization
by our Father,
we become
the same petulant child,
firing questions endlessly.
Why..? When..? How could you…?
Answers destined
to be withheld
by the One
who owns the time
we think is ours,
but only borrow.
Shame
O, wicked shame,
instrument of false imprisonment,
you sentence without trial,
leaving the accused to ponder the charges.
The devil bore you
out of the original deception.
You revel in the nakedness
of our exposed weaknesses
that take far more than fig leaves to cover.
The imprints of your shackles
serve as painful reminders
of our own futile attempts
to break free of your bondage.
You whisper lies
in our isolation,
hoping that we never
turn to the One
who can break the chains,
having already posted the bail.
O, stubborn heart,
permit salvation’s visitation
to our lonely cells.