They reap the wind who sow the wind. He spoke it so Himself.
They err who think the wind will build their house by piling sand
Upon another’s sand-pile; that it withstands the wave of trial and woe.
Let them go. They do not know His word of truth nor trust His Mighty Hand.
There’s no point to try and preach what you don’t understand,
To speak of things beyond your reach and lose them out of hand.
The Word of Christ is solid rock and evermore shall stand,
And the words of men are only drifting sand.
The Flood
Floods fell on the unsuspecting,
Sweeping away what once we held.
The barriers we thought were so protecting
Swiftly broke when the waters swelled.
Flooding grief can overthrow
The heart that thought itself steadfast.
Catastrophe’s sullen undertow
Drowns all joyous souls at last.
Immoral men bring floods of hate
To quench the love of gentle people.
Injustice rises in the state
Whose laws outlaw the holy steeple.
Where’s the high ground of sense and sobriety?
The swamps of sin are overflowed.
God’s standard marks the path for society
To climb to a righteous and safe abode.
Wisdom cries to the wading fools
Who wallow in mud of folly’s desire.
The wise will rise above those pools,
And dry themselves at a holy fire.
The Gathering Storm
Darkness grows as lowering clouds absorb the light
Like sponges soaking themselves in puddles of spills.
The wind quietly breathes.
The air heavily hangs; slowly gathering its sullen might
To hurl the waters of the sea into the little rills.
The breeze in anger seethes.
A gasp of lightning jerks the world to startled fright,
To trembling thunder, to cowering trees and crouching hills,
To drippy, sodden leaves.
Through Narrowed Eyes
Move along, there’s nothing to see.
What do you think you’re looking at?
I’m looking at you through narrowed eyes.
Why are you staring so intently at me?
I want my privacy. Can’t you see that?
Your unwanted attention’s an unpleasant surprise.
I see your fear. I watch you flee.
I saw you get up from where you sat.
To show me your weakness was not so wise.
But you’re okay. You’ll find it pleasin’.
I don’t have my gun, but there’s another reason
You’ve nothing to worry about. You’re out of season.
Wind
Wheezing, whispering, blowing, sighing,
Wildly whirling, gusting, dying,
Wind is falling, rising, flying,
Moaning, whistling, breathing, crying.
Gales are blowing; storms o’erpowering.
Whirlwinds whisper, "Are you cowering?"
How can air become so harrowing,
Gusts so strong, and clouds so towering?
When air is still, the wind's not stirring,
Wind's more than air with whirligigs whirring.
In the lowest atmosphering
Something higher's now appearing.
There's a Spirit on the earth
That made the world and gave wind birth.
The wind's a transcript of His worth,
He stirs the breeze with holy mirth.
Yeah, I know
Yeah, I know there's a reason for everything.
Sometimes I don't feel it though.
He's as dead as if there's no reason for anything.
Maybe there isn't for all I sometimes know.
To ask why is to cry out in pain.
Don't try to give useless answers.
Take a course to philosophize in vain.
Wrong thinking causes psychological cancers.
At least the good don't always die so young.
Sadly, the young, but not-so-good just die.
Some don't die who perhaps could be hung.
It can be so pointless I can't even cry.
Someday the mystery of God will be finished.
Meanwhile, good people can lose their heads.
How will the sanity of the world be replenished?
Even saints at the altar cry on their beds.
Lord, look what they do to people who try their best.
We've fled to the wilderness till there's no place to go.
The devil refuses to give it a rest.
The good get crucified. "Yeah, I know."
Time
Time is the measure of things that last,
A pause in the pulse of history,
The beat in the rhythm of all the past,
A riddle added to the cosmic mystery.
Time is a limit on all the world,
The consequence of being mortal,
The duration of what creation hurled
From chaos to eternity’s portal.
Time’s running out for populations
That thought themselves invincible.
The end of time brings consternations
And fears to fools once insensible.
Time’s an alarm clock irresistibly set
To ring in the end of the age.
Gamble with eternity; you’ll lose your bet.
The author of history is turning the page.
About the Author
John Lowstreet has spent his life trying to know God personally and to more deeply understand God. His one quest is to have more experiences with God. John studied the Bible to find God, and as he found Him, grew to love Him. His writings and poems reflect deeply held convictions about the character of God and the importance of Jesus Christ. Christ is not complicated. He is profound, however.
There are other books by John Lowstreet at e-book retailers for your use and enjoyment.
How to be Blessed by Christ
How To Be Blessed By Jesus
In Cadenced Thought
The Power of His Christ
You are invited to place a review of this book at your favorite e-book retailer.
Thank you for reading.
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