That Final Vision

For those who have yet to taste the strong meat of Cloudburst, feast upon the first stanza of today’s offering.

Here, my friends, we plant our feet
Against the warriors’ rush, we meet
The venomous swell, the savage wave
Of hellish flesh — a day to save,
The hour of bravery. Fight like men,
God gives each one the might of ten.

If you’re not a subscriber and insist on reading the rest, send me an email (remove the caps in the address). In the same spirit of today’s poem (remember: Cloudburst Poetry is published only by email), below is the motivation behind today’s six-stanza, six-line work, not included as a part of the poem sent today by email.

The hour is late, more foes appear,
Swords would strike our hearts with fear;
Stave and lance, the archer’s bow,
Each day gives cause for greater woe;
More faithful fall, shall we despair?
To arms! To battle! still we dare.

We heard recently of yet another loss in a congregation where the work was progressing well, but “progressives” moved in and dealt a telling blow. More will yet come, losses will mount, families will be sundered apart, the kingdom will be torn from many. A day of mourning would sit upon our shoulders, but this time must wait, for the horns of war rattle the gates and we must brandish swords. The enemy speaks of peace while loosing flaming arrows at our hearts to kill, not merely to wound. And we will not abide it.

J. Randal Matheny

Be pithy.

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