The wrath of God we welcome—
His fury is for His friends.
Love’s own expression, set contrary to all
That would mar His holy mountain
And scatter His precious sparrows.

The Almighty does not luxuriate
In suburban blinks and yawns,
As a timeworn sentry
Dozing before the nightly headlines.

He is wakeful,
Searching the waste and howling streets
For the lost.

He overthrows all that would unravel—
He breaks the predator’s teeth,
He burns the roots of the briar,
He lays waste to the destroyer’s works.

And this, too—Heaven’s tempest—
Is the fire that crowns the delivered;
That turns the ruin to ash.

Maranatha,

Jordy