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GRAPHICS & PAINTINGS TO GLORIFY GOD.
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AFRICAN CHRISTIAN POETRY
JUSTINE'S POETRY
THE REASON I WILL CALL OUT
Do not ask me to keep quiet,
Don't ask me why I cry out,
Bear with me as I endure the moment,
When I can't hear her out,
A friend so real and true.
The first day away, it was a busy schedule,
The day following, it was a deadline to beat
One week gone, perhaps a technical problem,
A fortnight later, I can't keep silent.
I will call out to my friend,
The one whose words have spoken to my being,
The one who shares my grief and pain,
Who understands when sorrow engulfs me,
And speaks solace to my hurt.
Do not ask me to keep quiet,
When our very own is missing,
When none can explain her absence,
When no single hour passes without a thought about her,
When all we can say is, we hope she is safe.
No! no, not a person like Miriam,
She, noble and diligent,
Always after our own good,
Striving to bless our hearts,
We writhe in the pain of her absence,
Waiting to celebrate a comeback.
We shall all dance to songs of gladness,
When our own is back,
In safety and health,
To carry on with service and ministry,
Replenished with vigour for days ahead.
Oh Miriam, please come back!
(C) JUSTINE
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GET WELL QUICK Early in the morning I am greeted by thoughts about you. My being longs For a time, When the joy will be back again; When on your two feet, You can stand and walk. The body once strong; A body that was broken, When dark days loomed over you, With stripes of weakness; But even in that darkness, A light shone in a distance, When the Anointed One, With healing in His wings, Kissed your face, Taking away the afflictions. Our tears He wiped away, Replacing it with gladness. Once again our hearts will sing, A song of conquest, Reciting verses of triumph, With melodies in our ears. I will rejoice even in pain, Though no one sees any good, This is where He put me, In this garden of roses. A scratch from thorns, who can avoid? I am a golden jewel in the furnace, That my price may be counted,Though he put me through pain, Value was added to me. This I never doubt, His dove rests on my shoulder, With olive branch in its beak, Announcing the peace prepared for me, For I know Soon, I will be restored. (C) JUSTINE | (C) JUSTINE | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
IN THE MIDST OF THE STORM
In the midst of the storm,
And the raging was on,
Shaken on every front,
By a wind so strong,
I thought I was gone,
I couldn’t walk all alone,
When my light was going out.
A body beautifully made,
Lavished with strength and health,
From the Hands of the Creator.
A body the archer’s arrow,
On it was shot,
So that
Beauty I might not keep.
No corruption could grip,
Nor anguish consume,
My spirit within me,
When in the hands of my Father,
I laid in peace and rest,
Restored again,
Like ground that drank in water,
Giving forth green healthy plants,
Shining in the glory of their youth.
I will shout again to the Maker,
I will exult in my Healer,
Who nursed me like a mother!
And embraced me with Healing Hands,
Mending my broken body,
And anointing my head with joy,
Renewing my strength again,
Watching over me in the storm.
I will glory in my God,
The One who nourishes me,
Who picks me up!
And dusts away my shame,
Clothing me with love,
And filling me with laughter,
When He healed me,
And broke the bows of my adversaries,
I knew forever I will live in Him.
(C) JUSTINE