Celestial Solitude Poem by Denis Martindale

While challenges as yet remain
Upon this Earth we live,
Sometimes it helps if we refrain,
At rest, till God can give...
Not all are athletes circling round
A stadium to win,
Sometimes the race is homeward bound,
Alone, just staying in...

Apart from every other soul,
The heart beats gentler still,
Allowing God to take control
According to His will...
Celestial, such times will prove
What God has got to say,
Beyond His softened words that soothe
That follow when we pray...

The hand of God can crush the fool,
The evil and the proud,
Yet give to us each Golden Rule
To show what's been allowed...
For both the rich and poor alike,
Receive the sun above,
Until that day when Death must strike,
Can we live with God's love?

The humble and the fearful, too,
Can bow their heads in prayer,
To intercede for me and you,
For whom the Lord must care...
If not, then why should Jesus die,
Upon the Cross of Christ?
Or grant us grace in full supply,
Unless we're highly prized?

In solitude, when saints calm down,
With heartbeats on the wane
And absent is the fretting frown,
That signals fears or pain...
Eyes closed in meditative mode,
The Lord's not near or far,
He's everywhere to bear the load,
Wherever burdens are...

Cast all your cares upon the Lord,
No matter, great or small,
Receive, like Peter, your reward,
Like James and John and Paul...
Amid the storm, amid the calm,
Christ beckons us stay close,
He gently guides us by the arm
To new things He still shows...

That's why, today, the saints are led,
From place to place to place,
Still trusting Christ the King who bled...
And died to grant them grace...
That's why, each day, they preach the Word,
With wisdom borne of joy,
For solitude has truly stirred
God's gifts that they employ...

At times, when poems trickle here,
Creating line-by-line,
It's though I sense the Lord draw near
And simple truths refine...
Like furnace gold that's purified,
Fit for the Master's use,
My eyes though light are open wide,
Transfixed by what He'll choose...

My solitude can bring forth fruit
That only silence sends,
Perhaps with words that gently suit
The sharing with my friends...
Thus poems come and poems go,
I dare not hold them fast,
For some are meant for all to know,
Till I must go at last...

But until then, it's solitude,
So poems can be born,
God blessing in each interlude,
Not just the breaking dawn...
So, please, excuse when I'm apart,
I'm with the Lord, you see,
It's time to have a heart-to-heart,
The Prince of Peace... and me...


Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2013.


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