This Day, A Resurrection by Alysia Harris
I have finished the Melancholic Poetry series, but I came across a piece by a poet I love, Alysia Harris, and I needed to share it. It is more prose than it is poetry; it is titled 'This Day, A Resurrection'.
Enjoy.
This Day, A Resurrection - Alysia Harris
Sometimes, especially on this day, the desire to serve God is overwhelming. I think about the great epic he has constructed and how he allows us to play some tiny part in it. And I am so humbled.
I am so humbled that we can still serve something. Serve it with honor and courage and conviction and be loved not for our successes or even our efforts but for the sake of the design itself.
This is surely a more beautiful song, than only one of justice or only one of love or only one of might and power. Your name is surely a more beautiful song sung by someone who knows the threats the night has made you and the vows you have uttered to your sadness then by someone who only knows you in the false light of a stage.
My God knows the paths of abasement. He more than human. He human. He less than human. He more than judge. He judged. He executed. He more than beauty. He uncomely. He disfigured. He more than adored. He slandered. He hated. He alive. He dead. He risen. My Lord is the spectrum upon which my life is pulled and towards whom I travel.
God writes the perfect poem. I am simply a cesura between the words. A pause for breath. But it is His breath. And if He says in that moment, be healed, or walk or live or kneel or rise then rise I shall.
Enjoy.
This Day, A Resurrection - Alysia Harris
Sometimes, especially on this day, the desire to serve God is overwhelming. I think about the great epic he has constructed and how he allows us to play some tiny part in it. And I am so humbled.
I am so humbled that we can still serve something. Serve it with honor and courage and conviction and be loved not for our successes or even our efforts but for the sake of the design itself.
This is surely a more beautiful song, than only one of justice or only one of love or only one of might and power. Your name is surely a more beautiful song sung by someone who knows the threats the night has made you and the vows you have uttered to your sadness then by someone who only knows you in the false light of a stage.
My God knows the paths of abasement. He more than human. He human. He less than human. He more than judge. He judged. He executed. He more than beauty. He uncomely. He disfigured. He more than adored. He slandered. He hated. He alive. He dead. He risen. My Lord is the spectrum upon which my life is pulled and towards whom I travel.
God writes the perfect poem. I am simply a cesura between the words. A pause for breath. But it is His breath. And if He says in that moment, be healed, or walk or live or kneel or rise then rise I shall.
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