Dust

Lied down on the floor of a gym,
and in the piercing light, I saw the dust.
Pieces of whatnot
wandering aimlessly, dragged by something.
In the glowing beam so warm,
oh they looked so beautiful!
A small piece here, and big there
— all floating in the rhythm.

Then I came to think of Him
— the one who paid the cost,
for whom I sell to buy the plot.
The lamb, the lion, and the King
the Word on my forehead and the arm.
In Him, the dust became a tool
— an unfair inheritor and heir
— colorful from the light's own prism

Christ above the cherubim
working with the Spirit gust
made me a knight at Camelot.
A slave presented with a ring,
that sure set off an alarm.
Wise to be called a fool,
homeward a beggar from nowhere,
by sacrifice a perfect altruism.

Greater or lesser, we're still dirt,
running, only shining in His hurt.

November 22, 2019 -- 1:24 AM
Reflecting on the life given--John 1.