In the land my fathers died to build,
Am I an alien, a stranger sort,
Whose roots are here and not, whom Time forgot
To tell its nobler plan, a safer port?
This tempest tossed old sailer, left to rot
Its salty timbers sailing seas, a berth
Would tie up to and welcome rest, the earth
To halt its steady rise and fall. Untilled
This cropland, virgin spinsters' doom unwilled,
Who had not sought the master plan's abort...
Yearns passport, whose imprimatur has etched a spot
On hearts, to the home place of our spirit's birth...
I hear her language singing in my head
Its siren song...the best is to be said.
As Moses' bullrushed ark of reeds embarked
On downstream destinations... pharaoh's sister,
Desert flight, Israel's plight, Rameses'
Plagues, Red Sea, the golden calf disaster,
Sinai to the Promised Land...who sees
The end, knows the start, or first his name?
We too were nudged part way before there came
The feeblest notion, fates, the future, marked
Out for themselves, predestined passports harked
Pristinely mine, unused, unstamped. Astir
In me the urge their styli etched, to seize
The wooing, wondering my elective fame!
I hear love's language, lyrics in my head,
Seduction's song... the best for us He pled.
A perfect cube by hands unmade, a city
Whose endless scenes' straight streets are golden stone,
The Noogeroo Salem, storied home of the soul.
The King of Kings upon a great white throne,
Justice metes upon every land, its toll
So dear a price to pay, yet fair and true.
No banks, no need to save, protect, accrue,
No stores or jails, nor unborn babies pity.
The sounds of singing saints or angel ditty
Bespeak a joy serene the soul seems grown
To fill, loving profusion's penultimate goal.
Paradise fair, communion rare...its due,
I hear lush language singing in my head,
A surreal song...the rest in heaven's homestead.
This stranger here on earth knows not the how
Or why an inner wooing invites nor needs to,
For with the feeling comes sufficient faith,
Hungry, the waiting heart, wantonly accedes to.
The boarding call, its time unknown, a wraith
Unseen but present, keeps luggage light, travelers
Alert, departs on time, leaving revelers
Behind. On flights direct, the journey won't allow
Baggage, aboard. Our spirit's house, for now,
Is left behind, worthless. Decay proceeds to
Dust, the parts designed for life, and Death,
Vile lord of earth demands debts due from defilers.
I hear life's language, loudly in my head,
Resurrection's song...the Best died in my stead.
How can it be debt free, to see that day
Amid the elect? No price had I that would
Defer the note past due on me! Mercy asked
The judgment not be read. When no one should,
Perfection stood to pay for crimes unmasked
As mine. What unmatched bliss is this, to know
The load of guilt is gone! Could I dare show,
This giver of life his gift I can't repay?
No word or deed, had I to hope defray
Such cost, the Son, alone, the price that could.
In debt, paupers to share the gift are tasked,
Elected, wooed, passage prepaid to go,
I hear Love's language gently in my head
Redemption's song...His best is Living Bread!
--Baron Gooberacht von Hottzendog
copyright 1999, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved