~ A Theological Poem by Tyler Sprouse ~ 

Lord, let me linger a while
longer; let me exist for a time
in this sun. Let me sit where
I’ve sat a thousand moons or more.

Praying, desperately pleading with You
for a little longer to live,
not scream, to laugh, not bleed
as You have made me do before.

This roaring locomotive relentlessly 
looms, and I can feel the steel rattling
my aching bones. No escape now.
We’re all hurled upon this bemoaning wind,

Forgotten evermore.

No!

Give me a glimpse into
the cavernous mines of
Your wisdom, let me wade into the Sea
of Your sacrality. Please, make me rest here.

Intensity grasps my wrists
Kicking, biting, scratching to evade
the piercing darkness blinding
retinas to renew our sight;
Lord, let me see,
let me breathe! Lungs pounding
within the ribs; fire cleansing
the sacrifice, liberating these lips to shout:
“I will not let You go until You bless me!”
I will finger the sonorous sonata of Truth
while there is breath within my being.

We assume we can overturn the Glass
and begin again; we superciliously imagine
ourselves as the Puppet-Masters of ourselves,
only to be crushed under the dominating
weight of each grain of sand, each minute
piece of granite that mocks and rules
us as we groan and grind down to dust.

Disturbing, you say? Perhaps. Bust Wisdom begs
for a hearing at the city gates. She cries out,
“Awake, you skeletons of decay! O, mummified
flesh, flee from your sarcophagi, unravel
the rotting rags and run to the rivers of life!”

Nobody dares answer.

The Krisis knows no words,

makes no reply.

Action will condemn

or vindicate: choose well.

Wake to the dawning of
righteousness unfiltered, rise in this Light
emanating perpetually. Rush
to the waters of agape abounding.

Rest, Rejoice, Revolt.

Live in the Dying;

Die in your Living.

The All-Consuming Fire will find you
in the hope of hopelessness,
in the Presence of absence, in the faith
of unknowing, in the prayer of perplexity.

“And the God of shalom will be with you.”

Selah.