From Psalm 73 / Jesse K. Butler
You brushed us off in anger, God.
Why are you still unbending?
When can we hope to find an ending
to our cold disgrace?
These scheming men rose in your place
who damn themselves with doubt.
They desecrate your temple, Lord—
When will you stomp them out?
They smile as they blast down the walls
that once braced up our hymns.
We hide till the explosion dims—
so terrified and frail.
We beg you for a sign, but fail
to see the greater danger—
that any prophet sent now might
walk past us like a stranger.
You’ve been our God so long now
the beginning isn’t clear.
You’ve always worked salvation here,
right in the tumbling world.
You stemmed the surging sea, and hurled
the creatures of the deep
back from the borders of the land
to their forgotten sleep.
You stretched the seasons out through time
to leave us space to live.
You open up each day and give
the gentle closing night.
But cruel houses hoard their light
and drench the dark with shame.
Please lift us like before, and let
the fallen thank your name.
From Psalm 73: Copyright 2021 by Jesse K. Butler. All rights reserved.
darklybrightpress.com 