Lignelse

Part I:

Sorg.

This life is such pain.
The vile stench of it fills my decaying nostrils
as it wafts upward to heaven in wretched waves,
An affront to the God I so despise

As I stumble through the murky mire which drags me down,
I feel the sting of my master’s whips upon my malformed frame.
To him I am chained, the cold bonds heavy and pitiless.
How I relish this abuse.

My life drains as I toil in the mud,
molding my works of filth,
by which I hope
to appease the wrath
that burns down from on high.

I clothe myself in the threads
I have formed from this sludge,
adding to the tattered collection knotted about my loins
Wistfully, I approach the Lord from whose presence I cannot escape.
But these ragged garments, nothing but bloody menstrual rags,
do but exaggerate my nakedness,
and I have no salve to balm my gangrenous wounds.

I am repelled by a blast of anger.

Cursing, I shake my clenched fist at His searing gaze,

And run once more to the cruel talons of my master.
Coarsely and violently I am pleasured, even as the talons dig into my flesh.
Coaxingly, he dazzles my eyes with trinkets and baubles,
and showers me in the majestic light
which shines from his presence.
Callously, he forces me down into the pit which is my home.
I am but a shell, a half-living carcass,
In complete submission to the dominance of my master.

I wriggle through this cesspool,
hating my existence,
damned to an even worse fate,
compared to which my current suffering
is but a light pleasantry.

Wretched and vomiting sewage,
My decaying organs a hundred times
more vile then the foul trash around me,
I am plagued by the gnawing question:
“What must I do to be saved?”

I grovel on,
ignoring the vicious lash of my master,
despite the pleasure of the pain,
searching for the Truth

I find a Book.
Written upon it are words inscribed by God Himself.
They reveal the Truth,
The one true way I can enter His presence,
But it is a mystery, an imponderable cipher,
for which I have no legend.

Then I stumble across the Key,
uttered from the mouth of God’s own Son:

I AM THE WAY
I AM THE TRUTH
I AM THE LIFE
NO ONE CAN COME TO THE FATHER
EXCEPT THROUGH ME

I look forward, my blind eyes now suddenly cleared.
Ahead of me gushes a river of blood,
Flowing from the mangled body of the Sacrificial Lamb.
The Lamb who was perfect,
But suffered all this pain
And the torment of Hell
For devil spawn like me.

Before the river stands an archway,
upon which is carved this message:

ENTER, ALL YOU HEAVY LADEN,
AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST.

A soft voice whispers in my ear.
“I am here, come to Me, my child.”

And as these words are spoken,
I surge forward, racing toward the crimson tide.
The bog about me
no longer holds me down.
My master screams, but his voice no longer has power,
and his light is dim and feeble,
overpowered by the radiance
that lies within my grasp.

I leap into the gory flood,
Feel it close about my head.
I sink, deeper and deeper,
choking in the raging torrent,
drowning as my rotting flesh rips away.
I feel the bloody surf fill my mouth, nose, lungs.
It pounds into every corner of my body,
engulfing all my filth.

I can’t breathe.

I’m dying.

Everything begins to fade,
as my old self dies.
And I sink down,
down,
down.

Part II:

Glede.

Rushing red pulses through my carcass.
But within me I feel a different throb.
My cold stone heart has cracked,
a heart that was dead for all those long, cruel years.
It is flesh now.

Life fills my limbs,
as the numbness disappears.
With new-found vigor I struggle to the surface.
My arms stretch upward,
reaching out to pierce the ceiling of this crimson torrent.

I feel a hand grasp mine.
I surface and feel solid ground beneath me.
I am no longer naked.
My bloodstained garments have been replaced
with soft robes of purest white.
The putrefying sores that scarred my flesh
have been mended with greatest care.

I am embraced by He who rescued me.
I feel His Presence inside my new body,
The same Presence which wiped the scales
from my eyes,
and who started my stopped heart.

Gently, He engulfs me with Himself,
filling my new-found limbs with strength.
Graciously, He guides my feeble frame,
standing me upon my feet.
Generously, He pours his true Light
into my eager self.
I am a new man, a living being
in complete submission to the dominance
of my Master

I look across the red tide
to the gate through which I came.
I gaze in wonder at the words
carved across it.

WELCOME, MY CHOSEN SHEEP

I look ahead,
My clear eyes gazing forward,
as I trod the path,
narrow and hard.
Whatever befalls, I know that I shall prevail,
and reach the home my Master
has prepared for me.

[Originally published on Facebook on 6/19/09. Composition date: On-and-off period from 7/19/09-6/19/10]

[Hint: The foreign language titles used in this poem are Norwegian. You can use Google Translate to find the meaning.]

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