Yet more poetry

Well this blog has become quite irregular of late with little news, but I'm in a poetic mood, so I'm going to inflict more poetry on whoever still reads this, ;-). This is an older poem but one that I re-read tonight.

~Matt

The Divine Drama
Phil 2:6-11
(c)2004 Matt Graubner

For He so emptied Himself,
grasping after only humility,
to be a servant, to be a man.

Leaving behind the divine realm,
God came down to earth,
Son of God, Son of man.

Obedient even unto death,
can we not ourselves,
even palely imitate this?

Yet was not true honour,
bestowed on the Christ,
reverence to Jesus’ name.

Above all others is He,
the risen Lord of Glory,
as will all someday admit.

With Christ may we approach,
awesome throne of God,
our ultimate part to play.

Exalting, glorifying our God,
beyond the edge of time,
in His true realm forever.

Hope

Okay, I'm not sure this is finished, but I'd be curious to hear any reaction to this. I've been working on this for several weeks now--well mostly in pieces, but many of them finally fell together during Bible Study. I wasn't originally going to incorporate the spiritual elements or make it as obviously personal as it is, but it seemed somewhat fitting. Please tell me what you think of this poem if you read it. Let me know if it seems to be just a jumbled mess, or if perhaps miraculously it seems to flow and you can make some kind of sense out of it. Thanks.

Fire and Ice

Musings on Hope

(c) 2008 Matt Graubner

Hope feeds on ephemeral dreams,

- Building castles in the clouds.

It fuels our bright tomorrows,

- Promising days of bliss.

Hope denies the bleak façade,

- Always seeing a silver lining.

It outshines the sun and the moon,

- Suppressing the surging tempest.

Though I do dream the dream,

- I steal hope truly insubstantial

Vain dreams weave the fabric of life,

- I place my hope in my own strength.

When the Lord unravels the tapestry,

- I fear the dissolution of reality.

Vanity held seemingly so tight,

- Within the circle of affection.

An insubstantial thing of dreams,

- Only bound by fetters of hope.

The seed of dreams does sprout,

- Growing into a mighty tree.

Yet fruit plucked from the branches,

- In the mouth turns to bitter ashes.

Resting upon no firm foundation,

- Joy may wax but ever yet wanes.

When my dreams founder on shoals of reality,

- May He yet guide my feet onto His way.

The Lord should always direct my steps,

- So much more than my vain imagining.

When He destroys my house of cards,

- I should ever praise His Holy name.

The Lord gives and takes away in His time,

- All glory and honor are His in time.

~Matt