Rusted chains carve out canyons in cold steel
And rivers cascade down its boundaries.
Flowing, careening, spilling and mixing with hot tears,
Memories once closer than my skin,
Pounding, pounding, again and again.
Held captive by the chains,
Memories and swingsets,
Overwhelmed by the torrent and swept out to sea by the tide,
In who, O Lord, can I confide?
But it’s when rusted chains meet my stone cold pride,
They all overwhelm me,
And all my demons quake inside.
Lord, if your grace is any consolation for all of my fury,
Then I beg you to please hurry.
God, use these old rusted chains to bind my wandering heart to yours,
And be my desire in the middle of the storm.
I am the arrogant son of an arrogant son of an arrogant son,
Who leaves words unsaid
And bonds undone.
And we’re all the arrogant sons and daughters of a loving Father,
Whose heart breaks for his wayward sons and daughters.
But he sent his beautiful son,
Like a lamb led straight to the slaughter,
So that every fall and every vain pursuit of pointless fodder
Would topple, teeter, and totter
At the call of said loving Father.
Oh Christ, be grace to us when nothing else makes sense,
When we are sinking in our sins and we pray for times so intense,
To succumb to the abyss on which we fixate,
Staring into the darkness in an attempt to placate
Memories that hold to us like old rusted chains on the swingsets we used to find refuge in.
Jesus, you are the only desirable thing in me.
I want to love you desperately,
To seek you relentlessly as you so relentlessly seek me.