Advent Poetry

We're half-way to Advent and tomorrow the joy (candle) comes in the morning!

I thought I'd share a piece I began a few years ago and just finished. It really is meant to be spoken and would be best with several voices, but I hope you enjoy it.

As Patrick and I have contemplated the longing and waiting of the Advent season this year, I think it's important to remember the long story of rescue that began in Genesis, that was missing Someone for so long, that Jesus broke into at Bethlehem. I think it's beautiful the way God wove it together and just sought to trace it's threads.

Advent

I.

Cold dirt, hot blood streams.

Abdicated brother’s keeper

keeps secret deeds done in darkness,

(The bite was small, but, oh, how the venom spreads)

wanders now, weary.

II.

Cold dirt, hot blood streams.

Worn nomadic desert father

sees seeds sown in womb of night skies.

The cut is deep but shows now the promise stands:

Centuries. Standing.

III.

Cold dirt, hot blood streams.

Consecrated nation's leader

lays hands, knife on hair, flesh.

The law hot thirsts but death cleans their scarlet hands,

until tomorrow.

IV.

Cold dirt, hot blood streams.

Desecrated-Zion’s poet

breathes this yet: dawn in death’s land.

The Man will mourn, but somehow His wounds will heal–

Exiles scream, Servant!

V.

Cold dirt, hot blood streams.

Long-awaited Word Incarnate

writhes helpless. All our hope fleshed.

The weight will crush, but hush now, the virgin sways,

Ransom rocked, finally

sleeping.