Like funeral clothes discarded
This crimson red misery
Stained with tears and fears of a faltering hope.
Eleven atheletes in disarray
Pacing up and down, back and forth
Kicking and flicking
To patch together a win
Perhaps a point.
Red-faced over one who has ears only
For Gallic style and ideals
For the beautiful game
That the feet and hearts of boys
From many nations
Cannot carry nor hoist
With honours
For the season ends too soon
Too soon.
Before the curtains fall
And the sea is no more
May my eyes behold the glory of the Lord
Wash over the peoples of the earth
And may the colors of his love
Reveal the liberty of sons and daughters
What a sight
What a delight
When earth is shaken
And heaven’s perfections
Restores the garden of the Lord and
Life reigns supreme from the center again.
(Poem composed during the time of waiting on God at the Pastors’ Prayer Summit 2012 at Malacca)