I would call You King
but who am I to crown You?
I would call You Lord
but who am I to serve You?
I am just a man
a sinful man
at war within myself.
I am just a man
a broken man
lost within myself.
But You call me son
and You hold me in Your arms
You call me son
and You hold me in Your arms
You call me the one
the one for whom You died
You were crucified
that You might call me son.
I will call You King
for there's noone higher than You
I will call You Lord
there's noone worth serving but You.
I was just a man
a sinful man
at war within myself.
Now I'm just a man
a forgiven man
and I just want to love You.
But You call me son
and You hold me in Your arms
You call me son
and You hold me in Your arms
You call me the one
the one for whom You died
You were crucified
that You might call me son.
And though forgiven
I'm still so unsure
of myself of my love
of my feeble devotion.
You deserve so much more
than I could ever give.
...
M.J.Z.
(c)2003 Brenden's Journey
No art can reveal You
no poetry can voice You
no music can express You
but I try, how I try.
To see You as You are
to know You more and more
to love You more and more
You are beautiful
my Ineffable Thou.
What have I in life
but to seek and to find You?
What have I in life
but to find and to love You?
And to know You
and to know You
my Ineffable Thou.
To see You as You are
to know You more and more
to love You more and more
You are so beautiful
my Ineffable Thou.
M.J.Z.
4 August 2004
19 lines
(c)2004 Brenden's Journey
Steps from her home
stroking the black hair
that her mother loved to brush
when it was blonde.
Pulls the shadows close to her
in the smokey corners
of the rave, hands lifting
to the throb of the bass
lifting through the tendrils
of swirling mist
lifting in myriads of light.
Lifts her head as
the needle slides serpent-like
into the pale flesh
he hungers for.
Curses the morning
and returns to the comfort
of her bed
until night call hers out
again.
M.J.Z.
(c)1999 Brenden's Journey
Fall-child
born to the autumn, sweet autumn
with glorious myriads
swimming in the fountains
of His creativity. You dance
in the falling leaves,
you sleep on the forest bed
tree-stems lifting like
long weeds o'er your dazzled
but weary head.
Night-child
walking the chill
winter recesses of God's wood.
Moonlight, soft moonlight
spilling as night's milk
through the long shadows
dripping on your gray-shrouded shoulders -
a baptism or a Druid's bath...who knows?
Stealing through the darkness
you inhale the world's perfume.
Sun-child
arriving at the horizon split
by burning dawn. All before
seems mist and maelstrom, the savage
cries of a soul torn in everlasting pain.
But this is better. To walk in the day
to play in His streams, to walk with
the others, hand-in-hand
that you so long pushed away.
The daughters of Yah, the Sons of God
You greet them. They greet you.
They meet you...
with confused stares and puzzled grins.
Who is this that comes to us now?
Shadowdweller and sinner-saved;
who can know him? Who can love him?
Who can understand the joy (and pain)
that drives him. One can.
M.J.Z.
(c)2000 Brenden's Journey
Who is this
that calls Himself
God among us?
Who is this
the people laud
as Lord?
Isn't He a man
just like us?
A wise man
a spiritual man
isn't this His wife?
Who is this
who heals the sick
gives sight to the blind?
A prophet?
A teacher?
A carpenter's son.
Isn't He a man
just like us?
See how He bleeds
hear how He cries
as they take His life.
A life laid down
a thorny crown.
Who is this
commanding the armies
of Heaven?
Who is this
coming in clouds?
Jesus Christ
see His hands and side
look deeply into His eyes.
Touch and hold the hands of God
His Kingdom has come...
M.J.Z.
12 May 2000 [draft 3]
(c)2000 Brenden's Journey
Like her mother
who sees through
filthy panes of glass
the daughter she'll
never see again.
Like the men
whose glazed eyes
belie the aching thirst
of sins untried
and women unstained.
Like her daughter
who watches the tricks
who treat her to bruises
too deep to see.
Like her Savior
Whose torn shoulders
bore the beam of shame
she'd saddled upon herself
as pay.
M.J.Z.
(c) 1999 Brenden's Journey
Piebald souls sigh
languishing in sultry
symbiotic darkness.
A cool, breezy day
the falling of rain
the stone that marks
the grave.
M.J.Z.
(c) 2001 Brenden's Journey
His sweet breath
draws the burning wind
through the brittle leaves
of my soul.
Caressed of that honey-flame
they smoulder, ignite, and burn
- an offering made by fire
- an aroma pleasing to the Lord.
M.J.Z.
Hebrews 12:29
(c) 1999 Brenden's Journey