The Waiting


Eyes do not see, ears do not hear
not even a glimpse of the streak of white
nor the breath of the steed as it puffs and it heaves
as it carries the weight of it’s Knight

not the flash of the silver which lines His hem
nor gleaming of his sword
not the fragrance of His tender breath
nor the tenderness of His word

and stumbling in my darkness
wandering in circles, at best
my hands stretched out for some touch of warmth
but refusing His offer of Rest

rocks and stones, they cut my feet
thorns cause blood to spill
the pain, justly mine, He takes as His own
crushing the head of evil

then from deep down in the grave I had dug
my nails black with the dust of my death
my skin soiled dark, but for pale sundry streaks
made by the tears I had wept

who could it be who stands at my door
who hasn't run off to more gallant ladies?
could it be that just one of the Suitors remain
of the ones who did bid for me daily?

but my fingers are bloodied, and I cannot dig upwards
and my dress which sinful radiance once kissed
is now ashes and burrs, and I’ve nothing to wear
that is fit for a Knight such as this

then not only does He lift me up from the mire
a shower of grace be His kiss
but He sews me a gown, made of Justice and Mercy
my worth proven there in each stitch

my God, could I have opened my eyes just once!
when so consumed by my pain through the years
for now I am blinded, with awesome desire
as He sweeps up His bride through his tears

"I once gave you bread and wine to court you
my body , my blood for your Heart
and now, not just bread, but a Feast I have waiting
It’s for you, We have waited to start”

with one swift kick of His foot they are galloping
His wing holds His Lady tight
and she hears his laughter blow through the wind
Her Savior, Her Lover, Her Knight



Yvonne Parks