Orient

They say
that there is no need to orient,
to posture, to approach,
to follow or obey;
to prepare a soul

for that homestretch movement
into light and majesty’s domain.

The sacredness of things, they say,
is outdated and overrated,
thumbed down and ignored.

To truly be is to not try;
to become is to bend
self-will, our greatest demigod
into a posture of ignorance,
an irredeemable sin
in a sinless realm.

But I? I am a seeker,
humble sojourner,
knocker, pleader, bent-knee
crawler, prostrate thinker,
prayer-practitioner, reasoning-user;

faith-sword wielding, a counter-rebel
in a rebel’s world; living on the breath
of One from another realm,
following a sacred, incandescent star
in a starless philosopher’s gloaming darkness;

depth-plunging, truth excavator,
a slum-treading soldier sent
to counteract the ugliness
of popularity’s deceptions;

a righteousness slave
to pound the drums of freedom,
to walk in time, preparing a way
to the hallelujah chorus;

no lone crusader,
but one of many, marshaling
one another, our reverent rhythm warring

to push back the heavy veil,
to bring dawn breaking in
a wartime crescendo,
a battle cry of life and sanctification,
then-

Victory will emerge
in a global resurrection
and a universal song.

Selah.