Monday, November 1, 2010

Rise; Come: A Reconciliation

He listened, the words first
washing upon his ears like
whispers upon the sand,
touching shore, retreating,
hitting shore, pounding
shore, retreating; returning
to obliterate the crumbling
sand castles of his mind.

His ears stopped hearing
the words, the words
diverted, touching his chest,
stronger like the loud bass
amplified at a rock concert,
pounding his ribs, slamming
through bones to tear
at his heart.

Images of brokenness
appeared, his heart cracking,
splitting, rupturing into
nakedness, destroyed. It
was all broken; everything
was failing, collapsing and
imploding upon the final
redoubt, smashed.

Silence. No bells. No
trumpets. No angels singing
hallelujah. No Hollywood
moment because he wasn’t
ready for his close-up,
Mr. DeMille. But it came
anyway and the voice said,
“Rise; come.”

To see other posts on reconciliation, please visit Bridget Chumbley's place for the One Word Blog Carnival; the links will be live tonight at about 10 p.m. central time.

Photograph: Cross by Petr Kratochvil, via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


S. Etole said...

I read this aloud and felt the impact of your words ...

n. davis rosback said...

i especially like the part about no hollywood moment.

Shail Raghuvanshi said...

This was lovely Glynn. What imagery! Felt the intensity of it all...

sue harrison said...

Rise, come. So much hope in those two words!

jasons said...

Beautiful. I love this, Glynn.

Kathleen Overby said...

First, I had to go wiki Sunset Blvd for context of 'ready for a close up, Mr. DeMille'...... Shoot me-I've never seen it!

This is how your poem strikes me: we are accepted in the beloved, up close and personal, no photoshop or airbrushing. Just like I am. What a relief~

Bridget Chumbley said...

Full of impact, Glynn. Thanks!

Melissa Campbell said...

Intense! The listening, hearing, hoping, fighting against our memories of defeat, and being saved by a still, small voice. What grace-- how God-words crumble the sand-castle walls we hide behind, reach in and save us. :) I enjoyed this poem!

A Joyful Noise said...

No bells no trumpet, only the still small voice whispering come unto me and I will give you rest.

caryjo said...

After I read what Susie said, I did the same... read it out loud. That just poured it forth. Amazing to see how the Lord's creative spirit implodes and impels.