Voice

Just think if all the poetry was spoken rather than written. It might sound all too lovely. But then again, the songs would sound awful lonely almost like an owl's call without its mate. You know, if it only said

Who

Instead of whoo whoo or rather coooo for the owl, or even a lonely cawwwww of the crow. These are animal sounds now that demonstrated voice. Let's not get it twisted. Some cultures use this style to express at different times when bursting into impromptu song may not be entirely appropriate. Think about it. Who wants to be serenaded with a

Death where is your sting

Oh grave where is your victory

Right in the middle of a very solemn occasion. Then a voice spoken can express anything from solemnity to final dignity and everything in between. It can also be used to describe joy as heard in cries of

Hallelujah praise the Lord

In church service Sunday morning. Though perhaps it's on Saturday or even Monday in your culture. Sorry, I haven't forgotten to check.

I Heard a Little Whisper

I heard a little whisper

Soft as woman's sigh

On the way to Nazareth

As her day was drawing nigh.

I heard a little whisper

Quiet as a baby's breath

Lain in wooden manger

Destined for his death.

I heard a little whisper

Of him Pilate called so mean

Only to find out that

I've had another dream.

I heard a little whisper

While upon the cross.

A man said "Lord,

Save me from this loss."

I heard a little whisper

That he was a king

Though you'd never known it

With the life he brings.

I heard a little whisper,

Prophecies of old,

Messiah walked among us

All the days untold.

I heard a little whisper

Like a horse's snort

As Heaven's forces

Gathered at the port.

I heard a little whisper,

A rumor of the Lord,

Lest he come and save us

He's got to bring a sword.

I heard a little whisper

That he finally won.

Heaven's courts hushed

To see the promised one.

I heard a little whisper

Of a certain man.

Led he came in limping

But I couldn't understand.

I heard a little whisper

Loud as silent groan,

"Lord on earth. He's

Given us his home."

The Unredeemed

Once as strangers wandered;

Call in now the unredeemed.

Few before have seen the faces

Of those now the unredeemed.

Hardly a sparrow escapes his eye,

Look now you unredeemed.

The Savior's blood within you carry,

March now as unredeemed.

Yet somewhat still you lack,

What with all your unredeemed,

Not of flesh and bone nor precious stones

But to simply be his unredeemed.

The Lord you seek is up above;

Be it now you unredeemed.

When at last you take your final breath

Stand before him now the unredeemed.

Only to hear him say

"Rest now you unredeemed.

I bought you, called you, made you mine;

'Twas hardly a coincidence divine.

Through trials and tears you've wandered

In this weary world below

Amid the ashes of your broken dreams,

Face now the unredeemed."

Last Words

It seems the time has come

For me to go away

But wait for me cause surely

I'll be back some day.

Yet one more thing as to

This you must listen.

For what good gifts our Father

Has unto us given.

Perhaps this form of

Verse or rhyme

Is not too popular with you

Yet together it works in God's time.

As we walk all along

Life's narrow way

We can hold onto regrets

And fear or rue the day

That him we ever ceased

To obey but that would

Not accomplish much

Nor do anything for such.

See, some of us would

Go off on our own rather

Were it not for the fact

That our Holy Father

Accepts all that come to him

No matter what shape they're in

Whether lost or found

Or wallowing still in sin.

As this book is closed, remember

All we ever need to do is stay

Safe from all immortal harms

Close by the Father's side always.

Legends

The legend of Sirrock:

How stories told

All the days of old

That mothers took their sons

Children of unwanted ones

And daughters too

To the shrine where old things grew

As the forest meets the bree.

A house of stone

Oldest borne

Unto the loch beneath

To be cold as the earth

Unmovable as the stone

Patient as the time which waits

For the dragon's warm embrace.

Oh, be still upon the peak

Bluest sky above

Still as underneath

Until the mountain comes for you.

Anxiety

Firelight dances in the night

A flame of hope burns bright

As seen from the armchair

Of mahog burlap

Where I sat in silence

Attention wrapped.

I listened to you sing

Of pretty little things

Like angels fair

They linger in the air.

Their silence hovers

As darkness covers

Lies upon the windowsill.

Seek my anxious thought

And still the beating there.