Wednesday, November 26, 2008

My Borthers

 I was thinking today how grateful I am that I chose to come to this earth, I have been reading a new book that has kind of opened my eyes to how easy it would have been to follow satan. I can see why so many did. And I wonder how I got where I am. I hope I was strong and never doubted the plan. But I can't know for sure. I am so grateful for my Savior who gave so much for me and my life. Anyway me thinking always turns into rhyme.

My Brothers

How do I see him? I've opened my eyes
This brother of mine who is made up of lies
He sits high on a throne, his angels surround
But his glory is stolen in lives he has found
Stolen souls of people I love
People who gave up light from above.
Souls who never will know what they lost
A body given at such a high cost
Scared for the pain a body would bring
He told them salvation was a sure thing
They chose comfort and joy over sorrow and loss
The deceiver deceived them and became there boss
now never being able or free to choose
They wander this earth finding souls to loose
They do his bidding and honor his will
They know me and loved me and live with me still
My brother sends them to bring me down
He wants my soul to adorn his crown

How do I see him this brother of mine
Those beautiful eyes that for me shine
The man who loved when my soul was born
The man who for me his life was torn
The Son of the Father who lives for Him still
The brother who bends to The fathers will
He sits among men, he works with us all
He lifts every brother he prays us not to fall
His life and his power he never shows 
The Fathers light, is the one that glows
He wants so badly to bring me home
He's given so freely, he wandered alone

How much do I give to these brothers of mine
Which one do I glory who's light do I shine
Who do I pick when I pick every day
Who's love do I choose when I walk on my way
Do I take the glory for me and my stuff
Or do I let my Fathers light be enough
My two big brothers who fight for my soul
Who do I choose, Who is my goal.

Everyday I wake up every day I fight
Everyday I get up and I choose the right
Do I fall? Of course I am human, I chose
But the brother who loves me the most arose
He gave his life so I could give
He rose again so I could live
He suffered and toiled was spit on and beat
He gave up a life and I won't be weak
I will wake every day and start again
The gift of repentance I give back to him
I'll use his life to make mine more
I'll use his gift to be clean and pure
Choosing the brother who loved me the best
Giving my life letting him give the rest. 

7 comments:

S'mee said...

Oh Pea! That's so cool, what a great idea for a poem and what a great job of writing it! You remind me of your dad in this one!

Happy Thanksgiving kiddo, I love you lots!

Jacob S. said...

wow. that's an amazing poem. if i didn't know any better, i would've thought you'd copy and paste that. i really do like it.

Jamie said...

Beautiful!

Robyn said...

Yep, you got the poet gene. It comes from granpa bourne (I'm sure there are some poet genes on the other side of the family too though!) Granpa B always was writing poetry and then mom and then my bro, your dad. How wonderful that you too can express yourself in such a great way!

Love the poem!

Paul M. said...

I'm way impressed by your poem, Pea! Not only is is poetically great, but it really paints a picture of the pain and loss of Satan's fall in a way that I haven't really considered much before. As a fallen brother, who once loved us, and us him, and also those who fell with him. I wonder, if he were to read this, if he might be touched?

Awesome are your works, Pea!

Sally said...

It's very hard to think of Satan as anything but my enemy. He is the one who hates me, and desires only to see me destroyed. He is the one who whispers lies to me, telling me that I am weak or unlovable or undeserving. He is the one who wants me to feel confused and think that sin or evil is acceptable. He wants me to be afraid, angry, doubting...anything that keeps me from seeking and trusting in my perfect Savior, the one who calls me 'friend' (John 15:15)

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