Strokes on canvas come to life.
Entangled particles of love explore.
Earth orbits a dying sun—
mere reflection and mortal strife.
A villa with a view not easily ignored.
“For by grace you have been saved through faith.”
Soil of Vine rich with trust.
Proverb and parable collide—
good deeds like talents buried
turn to rust.
Listen to chimes of old,
a call to Middle-Eastern metaphors of grace:
fruit of branches pruned fills the cup
the Gardner-Groom lifts up
to bless and toast and taste
the sweetness of the day,
a much-anticipated day
when He can see His eclectic bride eternal
face-to-face.
For now, the genealogy of suffering
is in every kiss.
While the already-not-yet kingdom of God
is continually crafted,
sanded down and stained
into His pre-ordained workmanship.
For we are Heaven’s masterpiece,
framed in doctrines of sweat and bliss.
Incarnated poems
(“created in Christ Jesus to do good things”)
clip Icarus’s apocalyptic wings
as feathers of pride melt
like sun-struck wax
when we abide inspired
with tongues of fire
from Holy Spirit lips.
To be clear, this is not an anti-rapture poem but a poem about an anti-rapture obsession, to the point that we fail to “come to life” here-and-now, merely giving lip-service to Paul’s Spirit-inspired declaration “For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago” (Ephesians 2:10, NLT).