Monday, June 6, 2011

Salvation Hill

Blue pine, red clay, green fescue fields
With clover stalks and seeds of hay,
Rock-lined rivers, jagged farms,
Deep forests never far away.

They look at people here with shock
As though they’d never seen this breed,
Read Bibles through their daily lives
The only news they’ll ever need.

With God above them blue as witness
They practice patience, model kindness;
They never honk or raise their voices
And always leave their homes in right good dress

Though curls will wilt and makeup puddles
And mist possesses all the trees,
The image of the Face remains
To make them better than they can be

As they scrape away at deep, imbedded sin,
Release it to the mercy of Christ’s blessings
As kids are released from preachers’ eyes
On jungle gyms in clearings.

This land that knows no other knows
It's but a spit inside infinity
That glows like gazes on the glass
At all the humble offerings on display.