A creative poem that illuminates, through powerful language and imagery, the burial of the old-self and celebration of the new.
Church-bells ringin’ but it’s not a wedding,
It’s a solemn day with much dreading,
A friend will be buried,
Before his prime, not even married.
A son to someone,
A brother to another,
Left behind a mother,
Father blindsided by fate,
Convinced it’s a dream,
Because at any rate,
The sorrow makes his heart scream.
Where do I fit into the picture?
At the front, reading Scripture.
You see, I’m the speaker,
Giving the eulogy…
The audience is alarmed,
My message lacks charm,
As I speak of the man layin’,
In the casket behind me, I’m sayin’
“The man was addicted,
Words to actions ratio, contradicted.
Spoke of life, but lived in death,
Worshipped then cursed; same breath,
Judgmental of other ‘believers’,
Ranked them by achievements,
Taught law, but lived lawless,
But what ya saw, it was flawless.
Closed doors hid the sin,
Justified by the many men,
Sufferers with deceptive grins,
Who had participated in the same wrong,
Filling the heart with things that don’t belong.
Images on a screen, actions that hurt,
Would be obscene, if others saw the dirt,
So pride-laced perfectionism,
Hid the inner darkness,
When there was a need for exorcism,
To remove the sinners’ carcass.
Egocentrically addicted to self,
Couldn’t pause to take it off the shelf,
The book of Life, the book of Truth,
Had it memorized, but preferred a tooth for a tooth,
The reality of this situation,
Was a heart that desired retaliation,
Rarely satisfied with others’ joys,
Often envious of their many toys,
Desired the spotlight, center-stage,
When others had it, inner-rage,
Consumed him with poisonous resentment,
His heart didn’t know what content meant.
Friends prayed and his mother cried,
She wished away would go his pride.
Jealousy over others successes,
And their girlfriends in their pretty dresses.
The truth is that I could go on and on,
But I already have, you’d like to turn me off.
So listen to me now, in this dawn,
Sunlight rises, while the darkness scoffs.
The man that lies here, under the tree,
That man is actually the old me…”
O but let freedom ring,
Light overwhelms, hearts sing!
Praise be to Him who saved
This sinner, O so depraved!
I was dead, now buried, resurrected,
Joyfully living a new life, He’s perfectin’!
Now grab a shovel, help me bury the old,
There we go, now he’s gone to dust!
Anoint the new creation, pray I’d be bold,
Remind me that it is He I trust!
Now dance, sing, praise!
Joyful songs rise from these graves!
Who else now shall we bury?
Who else now shall die?
Who else now shall be a rarity?
Who else now shall no longer try?
Who else now shall live by the Spirit?
Who else now shall overcome?
Who else now shall inherit?
Who else now shall no longer run?
Those funerals I shall be attending;
Authentic men and women that have stopped pretending.
No longer worried if they’re trending,
Living solely for the One who’s mending
Their hearts and souls and sending
Them to represent The Ascending,
King of Kings, LORD of Lords, Beginning!
This poem now has reached its’ ending.