A Giants Chair
Resting in front of me, a giants chair.
It, I know well
It, is built with despair
12 feet tall made of steel.
High back covered with stains
of immorality, dishonesty and incredible pain
Old and rusted through the years
a formidable and thunderous tone it produces
still within me
Empty now, with weak knees and an
apprehensive look I envision those
who reigned before
A mother who sells her son
A man with fists of thunder
A false counselor of god
A tremble of discomfort within my own skin
all the years I could never shake
Tho the comfort I feel as I lay bare
flakes the giants chair.
The closer knee to ground
quakes the chair to a minor resemblance
And as I open my whispers to prayer
my tone destroys all that is left of it
With prayers placed in my sling
twisted metal and steel
lay before me to rummage through
What once urged it into existence
Is made plain.
A boy, an innocent, a light, a purity
has been recovered
I hold their hands
I lead them away
There, a new chair
To Him, who sits at the right hand
Of the father
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