My Home Within
The castle rises, strong yet soft,
for every part from flesh is carved,
and each has a place and a rhythm.
Stones of heart pull upon each other
and the walls of the fortress shudder
again and again -- for it is alive.
I wander its halls always,
seeing much from its towers
with its eyes set within -- windows to my courtyard
Inside my citadel, lions walk wild,
free but befriended. I fear not their claws
even though they may, at times,
slash me when threatened.
I know them and they are mine,
like each piece of my living fort.
All have a place, and mine is the throne.
I lose my seat when it quakes,
and fall on flooring that yields.
Tell me then, can there be
a keep sturdier than mine?
In weakness is strength,
and in order within lies my peace.
I raise this edifice daily, rebuilding it anew.
In turmoil and siege, I endure,
for there is a well that never runs dry,
in the chapel where -- when I am wise --
the true king reigns.
+ By John Rieping
for every part from flesh is carved,
and each has a place and a rhythm.
Stones of heart pull upon each other
and the walls of the fortress shudder
again and again -- for it is alive.
I wander its halls always,
seeing much from its towers
with its eyes set within -- windows to my courtyard
Inside my citadel, lions walk wild,
free but befriended. I fear not their claws
even though they may, at times,
slash me when threatened.
I know them and they are mine,
like each piece of my living fort.
All have a place, and mine is the throne.
I lose my seat when it quakes,
and fall on flooring that yields.
Tell me then, can there be
a keep sturdier than mine?
In weakness is strength,
and in order within lies my peace.
I raise this edifice daily, rebuilding it anew.
In turmoil and siege, I endure,
for there is a well that never runs dry,
in the chapel where -- when I am wise --
the true king reigns.
+ By John Rieping
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