L | i | n | e | s

L | i | n | e | s

by Tim Reed

they | rage | against | the | lines

they / tear \ down / the \ signs

all for the gospel* of progress

My Window Faces South

My Window Faces South

by Tim Reed

My window faces South.

It always has, for as long as I can remember.

Mountain air rocked my cradle

adventure filled my lungs

Joy and surprise shod my feet - 

Innocence, the cry from my chest.

Life was good in those days,

and my window faced the South.

Next came fire and ice.

Black and white clothed my vision.

Passion and quest beset me - 

they alone held the skeleton key to my heart-doors.

Wit was my friend in that time.

Sabres of debate and humor clashed as I spoke.

Sparks of life flew back then,

and my window faced the South.

Then a cold draft of sorrow crept into my bones

a tempering grey colored my eyes

Death. . .  dogged my steps

Ashes became my robe.

I felt old, and my mind was a century

but my window faced the South. 

A new wind now brushes away cobwebs.

Ashes are replaced by tender plant-roots.

Spring's warm kiss placates Snow's gloomy stare

Perhaps the young once more effuses the air.

A red sun beckons.

Unknown voices clamor. 

I know there is life left in this frame. 

How do I know? 

My window faces the South. 

It always has, for as long as I can remember.

I was made for living.

Psalm of Gethsemane

Psalm of Gethsemane

by Tim Reed

"Arise!" they yell to me

caring nothing for my sackcloth

"Fight!" they scream

as I meekly say "I surrender"

I have been brought low

but I will remain

nothing will rob me of my sorrow

I will not arise and fight

the hand of the One I trust

I will not lift a finger to save myself

Voices adjure from all sides

to multiply my words

to amplify my cries

to command with conviction

Who am I to know all ends?

I will not be arrogant in my prayers

or be presumptuous in my requests

Rather, I ask for a heart of faith

and a servant's song

With shattered heart

I utter only four words

"Your will be done."

Musings on Creation

By Tim Reed

     We, as humans, use the creation story as a limitation to God. True, it's difficult to imagine a God who speaks the universe into existence. However, have we stopped to consider that this was by no means somehow the maximum of his ability?
     He chose to create that which is on the very border of our ability to understand, showing that his truth revealed in nature is enculturated at the deepest level imaginable - it is voluntarily limited to the pea-brained intellect of mankind. Even the creation account is at once a display of God's power as it is his pity. It is a statement of man's potential as it is his weakness.