Sunday, October 19, 2014

J.D. DeHart- Three Poems


though the storm was coming
times were changing
people were being put to death
though the doubters doubted
though the rulers ruled
tying them up, binding them
even burning them
they nailed the pegs in new ground
as his pegs had been nailed
telling of his journey and migration.

Son's Son

woven and interwoven,
the relationship a symbolic whisper
from Father.
he was my Son, is my Son,
will always be my Son
and I give the most precious
part of Myself
a love letter written across beams.


we do not know the day
nor hour
when the frightened will head
for the hills.
the first coming was wrought
in an unexpected way.
no one expected a carpenter.
can we assume a blood-red 
moon, a series of trumpets,
or is it a tentative gesture
toward inevitable truth?

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