Borrowed Rage

Why do the heathen rage–
With borrowed moral outrage
Standing on the top rung of a ladder in the air
The height of Babel’s Tower, built without foundation

Why do the peoples plot in vain–
The vanity of ethical criticism
Of the Lord and his Anointed Word
Graded by a test key not in possession

Why does the culture sit–
On the lap of the Father to slap his face
Intolerant of his intolerance, infuriated by his wrath
Pharisaical students of a law they have stolen

Why do the kings of the earth set themselves–
Against the Creator’s righteous standards
Claiming rights and freedoms
Endowed by their Creator

He who sits in heaven laughs
And holds them in derision
The derision of ironic judgments, poetic justice
Condemned by the mouth that condemns God’s condemnation

Death Certificate

A statement that the body has been planted in the ground
Like a dead seed awaiting germination
Or a document that returned dust has been severed from a departed soul
And cast to the four winds

Filed proof that the curse still smothers this earth
Squeezing the breath out of life
A certificate of death’s achievement bestowed upon the diminished family
Or abandoned to public record

But where is death’s death certificate?
Is it filed away in a manila folder, shoved in a desk drawer or metal cabinet?
Buried beneath forgotten obituaries?
Or buried in the ground with corpses?

It was issued on Sunday, Easter’s date
With the time of death in the morning
The cause of death: Resurrection
And awaits publication to the world

The Bird and the Window

This morning there is a sparrow tapping against my window
Trapped in the open field and empty air
Imprisoned on the outside
Seeking entry into my home

And I am on the inside, coffee in hand with my foot
Rocking you in your monkey chair while your mom’s in bed,
With you bound tightly in your swaddle
And wrapped in my love

The flipside of the window contains the world
Where the bird flies and some label freedom
With journeys into jail cells available, and some
Leaving home to find a home

But if freedom could be enclosed in four walls
Given an address, personified in persons
Then freedom takes up residence here
And binds the three of us in love

Soon I’ll walk through the door and head to work
And like the sparrow feel trapped in open space
Imprisoned on the outside
Tapping on the window until I return home.