The Groomsman's Day of Rest

Song of Solomon 8:11-12

Give me but two hundred,
Leave the rest untouched.
Let me tend the field He's sown,
And He will gather much.

He asks five times your offering
That you have shared with me,
A sixth of all he grows in you,
And all the rest for He.

I stand here but a groomsman,
To veil the wedded bride,
To cover what belongs to Him,
Until his coach arrives.

He'll have His own one thousand
From one He sowed in you.
For now, I stand a watchman
Till what He'll do He'll do.

He offers me two hundred
To see His harvest grow,
But on the day He comes for pay,
I'll have to let you go.

For He demands one thousand,
Of what He's caused to be,
So what is thine, is His, not mine,
One-sixth is all for me.

You are a seed He planted,
And all the seed is His,
But He is good, and for this would
He share with me His bliss.

But only two from dozen
The fruit of you is mine.
The other ten belong to him,
For He is only thine.

And what am I, your husband?
And what are you, my wife?
One sixth of me belongs to thee
Together in this life.

But more in me He's planted,
Than you can ever eat,
So give to Him your rest and then
Be in His holy peace.

For we will both be married
Unto the Holy Groom,
And all our love will rise above,
Into His sacred room.

Where He will taste your honey,
And drink upon your wine,
And take his fill of breastmilk,
That he has let be mine.

One sixth is all He gives me.
One sixth is all we share.
The rest will go to Heaven,
For your Groom tarries there.

Love-Sex Confusion

At the end of the weary road,
The Ancient Sphinx asked the weary traveler:
"How is a child made?"

Dry-throated, weak-kneed,
The tired traveler replied:
"By sex."

A hole opened in the sand,
And the hourglass of eternity
Swallowed the sun-scorched fool.

At the end of the desert path,
The Ancient Sphinx asked the weary traveler:
"How is a child made?"

Blistered and star-spotted,
The weathered walker replied:
"By love."

A hole opened in the sand,
And the shifty sea of time
Consumed the half-born wit.

At the end of the winding world,
The Ancient Sphinx asked the weary traveler:
"How is a child made?"

Throat slaked wet with wisdom,
The patient pilgrim replied:
"By God."

And the stone stood silent.

The Chosens' Curse

Be thankful now for Judas,
For love who's been betrayed
Is better than a love that grows
In full light, free from shade.

Be thankful now for Peter,
For love who's been denied,
Is better than a love whose kiss
Has never suffered lies.

Be thankful now for Thomas,
For love who has been doubted
Is better than a love secured
By protestations shouted.

Be thankful now for Phillip,
For love unrecognized
Is better than a love who we
See only with our eyes.

Be thankful for betrayal,
And for for denials, too.
Be thankful for the ways that they
Have hurt love before you.

Be thankful for their doubting
And for their blinded eyes.
Be thankful that love chose them
To see his body rise.

Be thankful to believe it,
If love allows you to,
For if you have believed he did,
Then his love grows in you.