I've seen him again.
This summary of other men's visions!
This poor cripple on two legs,.
Dressed all in black
From top to toe
To front to back.
Parted hair, and matching plastic smile.
Clutching and scratching
At his black old Bible
Gripped in ivory fingers,
Underneath his black banded arm.
His feet squeezed into black and shiny shoes,
At the bottom of his sharp and shiny trousers.
A fitting button boy
Resting on some reformed ideas,
Of strange godliness,
From another age.
He's of another age.
His blackness is his darkness,
That covers
His real hurts
And questions.
His black and dour plasticity
Are fearful reflections,
Of all he has been told,
From,
And in old
Ferocious pulpits,
That have spit judgment on the saints.
On the son's of His love.
He has become what in public they appear,
And in secret they fear to be.
Too screwed up to meet this age,
For they are the products of another.
by a British Pastor
It seems very offten that people are always becoming what others think they should be. This poem was give to me years ago and I cam across it today as I was thinking about how we often conform to the image or pattern people have for us. Not what Christ would have us BE.
