Yoghurt
I've realised that untill you understand your brokeness, your complete reliance on God's grace for any hope of a future, you have no chance of understanding true meaning of redemption. Without this understanding how can you truely show grace to others? Without your love for others being rooted in your understanding of God's incomparable love for you, it is a hypocritical and frail thing indeed.These poems with a mixture of fun and meaning were written while i was coming to that understanding and are meant to compliment each other.
Yoghurt
When you open your yoghurt,
And your spoon into mould insert.
Dirty dairy, rancid raspberry,
The response is quite unnecessary:
Righteous wrath, moral checkmate,
Makes you feel good to relate,
A story of corporate irresponsibility,
To your friends, who find hilarity,
In joining with just indignation,
Your tirades of rhetorical objection.
You can indulge in a little intense,
Yet harmless humour at ltd expense.
And with pomp you plant your pot,
On the customer service desk.
And punctuate the air with tuts,
At the ironic sign above your head.
In a frigid flurry of customer care
You find you’re no longer there,
You’re blinking in the parking lot,
Hands clutching a refund and pot.
You start to eat with consternation,
Your fresh dairy reincarnation.
And realise, as you do, you’ve lost,
Out on what the petrol cost.
Crass consumerism in rhyme,
Can bring insight to the divine;
When God peeled me open, I knew,
He had nowhere to return me to.
Yoghurt 2
The outside looks good to the eye,
Really looks quite elegant.
White and colour splashed and splayed,
With crisp curve and line of font;
Nought point this and that displayed,
All emblazoned with logo and pride.
Packaging genius.
But God sees past what I adorn;
Taste and see that I am rot.
Best before I was born.
My life a complaining little clot,
Of bad attitude and shame;
An intense miasma of blame.
Throw me out.
But again I am found guilty,
Having defamed Gods Glory.
For I’ve been righteous-redeemed,
And I dare to devalue the dowry,
By declaring myself unclean?
In his grace I’m recomposing.
See; He smiles at what he’s done.
The spitting image of his son.
posted by Matt Heaton @ 10:21 pm
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