Honey, Kings, and Forty Days
I ask again, yet are you mad? Will you smack me with an answer given in your anger?
Twice you gave your people forty years in jail—first in a wilderness then under a king.
The wilderness because of disobedience—you followed with a land of milk and honey.
Then a king from the tribe of Benjamin—tearing like a wolf morning till night—
You were angry. You gave them what they asked for and they suffered—followed
With a king of your own liking. Long ago you said it—the scepter would remain in Judah
As a commander’s staff. I ask, yet will I suffer if you answer? I ask not in criticism.
I doubt that forty years remain for the old heaven and old earth.
I do not mean to steal fire out of heaven as the pagans say a Titan did.
The answer we have lived without, so why now ask I you? This is my question—
Not only how I choose, but also how you choose if this addresses justice.
Were the actions of our lives written in the stars of iron-fisted governorship?
Summer swelters into the much anticipated Fall.
I ask for forty days—how the iron fist of nature be truly otherwise.
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