The Man Among The Trees
(This poem is inspired by Zechariah chapters 1, 5 and 6)
There is a man among the Myrtle trees and a woman in a basket.
“Move the scales to make some room, our tables are getting full!”
The people yelled just long enough for foolishness to be established among the brethren. They will not accept a sister, they only reject the Bride.
No Bride here only assembly!
“We gather here to spit out venom and drink our pride”
No man of the Spirit left alive, No woman of the Spirit left to thrive.
“Die, die, die in deafness”, they cry. “Die, die, die in dullness”, they derive.
Magic words from magic men, Soothsaying in the presence of the cross.
No time for the banquet, too busy for the Son.
Where are the lips of Christ? Where is your fear of the God who formed you?
In the basket with the woman. What is her name? They will never tell, Lowered on a rope to hell.
All the pews are in her eyes as the congregation suffocates, sputters and dies.
Where is your future glory? With the Man who walks among the trees. Bridal in hand, his horses He leads, Through the trees these coloured horses look for places to lay down their heads.
Will the fury flow from their eyes? Will the heat coarse off their backs? Will they go to war at this time? Will the Man mount up to ride?
Or will peace come to the land? As this Body is laid to rest.
Will those who remain wake up and say, “Blessed be the King of Glory, Jesus have your way!”
