This Mortal Journey

This Journey Begins

I

This journey that I’m on,

this flight from fancy,

A cold unforgiving dream.

I hurry, quickly scurry,

with haste and fury, scream.

Driven, unforgiven,

mad with fear and hate.

loathing self ‘til self forgets

what reason metes with fate.

Fate’s fleeting glimpse

of futures unseen hand

turning twisting ever learning

all that is unplanned.

All that can’t be seen

cannot be felt

by mind half blind

with terror smelt.

What terror, what dread,

pale face traced with naught

a face from which all colour’s bled,

a leaden face, unknowing thought.

Unknowing, what could be discerned

if knowing meant every thought

quickly, sickly, thickly learned

had I to my conscience brought.

Had I a conscience still,

a presence of mind

a free and reasoning will.

If I had that and only that to find

II

This journey would be ended,

this battle for the mind.

A house left untended

a dilapidated mine.

A treasure trove or barren heart

hidden from human sight,

a selfless love or frightful dart,

who will win the fight?

Who will win indeed?

The answer is unclear;

a mirky smoke filled glass

a blurry stained mirror.

Eyes do search, cold eyes,

hardened, piercing gaze.

Impossible to discern

the twisting serpent’s maze.

Again the fear rises up

into the throat and chokes

as last dregs from that bitter cup,

one more breath to coax.

A mind played trick, almost sick,

walks in air of younger days

when freely light burdens bare

and care was the voice of praise.

But now forsaken, shaken,

the path once wide and easy,

If the other had been taken?

I asked which would please me.

I asked of someone unknown,

now knowing what I rather not

that life begun in hope and joy

ends in a stinking rot.

A rottenness that starts within

each choice hidden deep,

that seems but an innocent whim

that on your conscience creep.

A compromise that steals

the promise from His lips

and climbing up the proverbial path

as he downward slips.

III

And I am there

where light cannot be seen.

But the darkness has a glare

to show me where I’ve been.

And that is not a place

where I would want to go

but now in heaven’s disgrace

my choice I do know.

And choice it has been

could my tongue somehow confess,

if confession could cleanse the heart

and make my guilt be less.

But even then to my knees

I’m driven at the thought

As light breaks forth from heaven’s doors

and all His wonder’s wrought.

Wrought of love, I see it now,

if seeing it can be called,

when blinded by the noon day sun

when from dark dungeon hauled.

All around I feel them now

the massive horde of strangers.

Stranger still, that until now

I never saw the dangers.

And He is right not by might

but by a love beyond mortal ken.

Knees bow and tongues confess

at Jesus’ name spoken then.

Our guilt is seen collectively;

individually we see our loss.

I and we crucified our Lord

We nailed Him to His cross.

‘How?’ I ask, ‘Could it be

when I was never there?’

Yet, day by day I nailed Him

though I hardly was aware,

but now I see in totality

though it be too late.

Now is salvation’s day.

Make it choice not fate.

This Journey Continues

I

A light, brighter still

kisses then my brow,

rouses and stirs my will

and awakes me now

to see the dream has ended.

If a dream it can be called,

when like a fortress tended

or a city walled,

it’s truth can be defended

and every word recalled.

Every vision I had seen

was burned into my brain

as though I had really been

and I there remain.

I rise and blurry eyed

face another day

unlike any other seen

and try to find my way.

Picking past each moment ticking

on that eternal clock

that metes each moment’s meaning;

a prisoner in the dock.

Each choice now seemed so real

with eternity in its scope.

I try to think and feel,

to keep my mind on hope

but each step it seems

takes me farther from my goal.

All my human schemes

dye redder still the wool.

If I say I have no sin

my sin remains.

The deeper I look within

the deeper are the stains.

II

Retiring to a place of prayer

I pour out my need.

It’s not from guilt and shame

that on my knees I plead,

but deliverance from the very act.

Remove the selfish deed.

Transform this mind

formed first from dust.

This steeled will

consume with rust.

Remove each thread

of human trust.

As if thrust through with sword

are pangs that pierce the heart,

that shatter every cord

that tears this frame apart.

Destroy it board by board

and that is just the start.

At my weakest point,

gathered about with gloom

while pain racks every joint

he steals into the room

at the time appoint

while my sins before me loom.

This is the moment when

all will be confirmed

or all will be denied

or the truth at least be learned.

His arms are about my chest

before I’ve even turned.

I struggle now not just with mind

but with unyielding foe.

With each effort I find

he matches blow to blow.

His tricks I can’t unwind.

My weakness he does know.

III

He knows my every weakness;

he knows my every thought.

Who is this foe I’ve found?

What secret has he brought?

Then with every fiber strained

I tied him in a knot.

Then I asked him why

he came at this time appoint?

Then he placed his hand into my thigh

till it was out of joint

and then with one desperate cry

I asked Him to anoint.

For now I saw my foe

as dawn revealed His face.

I felt hope inside me grow

now enveloped by His grace;

that I would not let Him go

was not to His disgrace.

Then He spoke that name,

I wonder to recall,

to revoke that shame

stored in memory’s hall

and to remove that blame

placed by Adam’s fall

and mine.

For I still fallen am.

Journey’s hill will not decline.

I am but a man,

I am not divine.

Yet, divine is the road

upon which my feet are set.

Unbearable the load

and the trials that are met.

The way He has showed.

He has traveled it.

This Journey’s End

I

This journey that I’m on,

the end cannot be seen

with mortal eye.

The living only dream,

behold the sky

and all creation’s wonders

dimly through a glass,

and all heaven’s thunders

in a moment pass.

Faith’s eye only beholds a view

where in earth’s decay

all things are made new,

never from truth to stray.

And truth is the guide

that keeps us on the path.

The road, easy and wide,

though traveled many hath,

does not lead to heaven’s door

or that eternal rest,

but only to Satan’s moor

held at his behest.

And we must choose

lest fate snatch away our choice

and we lose

God’s guiding voice.

Each step is heavy with the weight

of glory in its scope,

burdened by our mortal freight

driven on by hope.

Hate no longer binds us,

free to choose the way,

fear no longer blinds us

or causes us to stray.

Love is all around us

and Jesus leads the way.

II

And I follow taking up my cross.

I have forsaken all

counting gain but loss

and all the riches of the world

are to me as dross.

But my steps are not as sure as my intent,

my thoughts are not so pure

or always heaven sent,

and each trial I endure

my strength is almost spent.

But strength enough

is given for each day,

though Satan tries to play his bluff

to steal my peace away

while stumbling at the stuff

he places in my way.

And so the road goes on,

and once again I find

the darkness crowding in

thickly to my mind,

and blind once again

as in the dream before.

Fearing for the end,

searching for the door,

but faith bids me on

and not like fear before.

And though uncertain of myself,

I’m certain of the Voice,

that guides me through the gloom,

guides my every choice.

For choice it is

though it cannot be seen;

not chance or fate.

For only faith has been

my guide through this mirk,

where gins and snares are set

and unseen dangers lurk,

and it’s not over yet.

III

A red leer, a ray not light

parts the gloom and of the gloom apart.

A day more like night

fills the room, deadens the heart.

A vision not like sight

points the way with deceptive art.

With all senses now in disarray

I trust not man, not self, not thought.

With no sense to guide the way

I only know what I ought -

that true to Him I will stay

who with His blood my ransom bought.

He purchased me.

I am His,

and by His hand

I’ll die or live.

You cannot steal what I will give.

And then at last

that piercing horn

awakes the dead

no more to mourn.

And I, at last, see the end

but cannot describe by mortal pen

nor song declare the brightness then.

The light so bright

immortal sight alone can see;

a joy so full, yet room for more,

though no more could be.

More and all and eternity

rolling, moving, growing, filling

all the earth and all creation be light,

and I awake

the morning sun in my eyes.

I saw of what the Prophets spake,

I heard their warning cries,

“Beware which path you take

for in your choice your fate lies.”