Archive for the ‘Lord’ Tag

THE ARTIST’S …

THE ARTIST’S HANDS

It is in awe, and wonder that

The artist with such hands now sat,

Perched upon a cliff at sea

Hearing a voice speak audibly.

“You’ve painted much there is to see,

With steady hands and skillful strokes,

You are ready now,

Paint Me.”

The artist cried,

“I can’t Oh, Lord, paint with brush,

Your face and eyes,

So tenderly,

For I haven’t seen

Your face before;

I have no picture

But history and lore.

“How can I paint

The face of God?

What can I do

But a sketch or more?”

God replied, “Look around,

At the world’s mankind;

Look for my image and you will find,

The face and eyes of the Son of God,

Then you will know

How to begin.

Now go my child

And paint Him.”

_______________

  Joyce E. Johnson © 2005

Posted April 10, 2012 by Joyce in Poems, Uncategorized

Tagged with , , , , ,

Redeeming the L…

Redeeming the Lost

 By: Joyce E. Johnson

The wandering lone man sat down by the track.

He could not hide nor change the fact

While watching people board the train,

That he smelled no better than the sewer drain.

His body sick, and tired in its shell,

Aching from the cold grew accustomed to the smell.

He could once pick from hats, and socks

When he stayed at the shelter down by the boat docks.

  But another man forced him outside on the stairs

 When it became crowded. Now his socks had tears.

He still had the marks from when he was beaten.

He lost count of the number of days he’d last eaten.

He could remember when he was young

Recalling the words from his mother that stung,

“I can’t keep you. Fend for yourself.”

Then left in a hurry with no food on the shelf

She packed and ran off with some strange man

Leaving him alone, saying, “I’m going with Stan.”

The experience turned his heart to stone.

He had no other place to live or call home.

He raised his head as if hearing a sound.

He’d fallen asleep on the damp, hard ground.

 Blinking with wonder what appeared was a vision

Stood a figure beside him; not scorn or derision

Helping him up from the ground where he lay

 His touch comforting, not a word did he say.

The sound of singing and joyful noise heard

From a candle lit hallway soft music spurred

Him to follow the angel into the light

Of a church that welcomed him to dinner this night.

A splintered old cross was raised on one wall,

       Loincloth and crown of thorns lay propped in the hall.

While seated and served in the banquet room,

He heard about a Savior, and an empty tomb.

From out of the clutches of despair and strife,

   Walked a wandering, lone man into redemption and life.

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