The Ruse

I am tired
And I know it
Of the ruse.
Of the sterile things
That tell us
We are saved.
Of the formulaic mantras
That ensure
Our passage whole
But will leave us
Missing all
The love Christ gave.

It is He
Who owns full
Title to our hearts
And Who offers
Myriad spoils
From Beulah Land.
It is He
Who draws and drives
And sets apart.
Not some doctrine,
Dictate muttered
Out of hand.

Put aside
The studies, sermons
Though they seem
To align our
Thinking with
The “Roman Road”.
And be real
And begging
Down upon your knees
With that Heart
Of royal love
To trust bestowed.

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