Shigé Clark Writing


Jesus poetry

Good Gifts

Yes, it’s true. I don’t deserve it,
Not a good thing that exists.
But, somehow, my God who loves me,
In His kindness still persists.
Still He presses forth, so faithful,
Rotten though my heart may be,
Loving me beyond my failures,
Giving such good gifts to me.
Have I earned my  life and wellness?
Or deserve such time and care
From the people who surround me,
And the God who put them there?
Though He owes me nothing, truly,
I have learned His gifts come free,
For the goodness of the Savior
Has nothing to do with me.

– s. Clark

Hold the Line

Hold the line.
Because every battle is decisive in this war.
And every inch of ground worth bleeding,
Even dying for
And should the blood you spill
Fall to water seeds you will not reap
And grow up to bear fruit you cannot keep
Does it matter?
I challenge you
To move upon this blood-soaked battleground
And let the horn of victory, your battle-cry, resound
And fight!
Against the most cunning and dangerous of foes
For the most priceless and important of prizes.
No one knows
The blood you spill, the grief you bear, the pain you withstand
And the battle will be far uglier than you have planned
So ask yourself
How far are you willing to go for a stranger? A child of earth?
Loss of sleep? Fervent prayer? Lack of food? Self restraint?
How much is one soul worth?

– s. Clark

Trial of the Ages

Call the crying critics in,
Tell them to declare their lies.
Stand of strengthened soul within
Holds Him silent, burns His eyes.
“Blasphemy!”, what they accuse
With their pointing fingertips
Is the very thing they use,
Slipping from their lying lips.
Though the saintly sadists yell,
Nothing shouted stands. But still,
Who He is will not compel
Victim to assert His will.
Jesters juggle Him, the same,
Through their hoops of pain and pride,
And He claims a kingly name
Though His servants flee His side.
Soon His flesh will break and tear,
As He promised them it would,
And He calls not legions there
To defend Him, though He could.
He will hang upon His grave
And permit their taunts, that He
May no longer call us “slave”
And true Children let us be.
Call the crying critics in,
They will watch the Lord arise!
Stand of strengthened soul within
Names Him victor, burns His eyes.

– s. Clark

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