Monday, February 20, 2012

The Gospel

By Mark Bishop

A thousands ways to symbolize and metaphors to draw
Yet none could fully capture that which freed us from the law

How could sinless he who willing bled and died
Be credited to faithless me a wretch who stole and lied?

Yet joy unending left it's place in palaces above
And set me free to chose again to wed with my true love

While at the altar long I stand and gaze into his eyes
My thoughts are stolen from me by former lovers cries

Grieved He bids me stay as I hesitate to speak
To promise Him and bind our hearts in future bright or bleak

What of my heart!? Might it be lost amongst the lovers past!?
I start to weep but look to find his hand in mind still holding fast

His sweet and gentle voice scarcely heard above the noise
"I'll fight for you however long 'gainst Satan's shameful ploys

I know your story and I formed this broken world of which you're part
Cling not to that which tempts you now trust me to win your heart."

I turn toward him, face to face I search his eyes and find them true
Then in a moments clear resolve my wayward lips confess "I do..."

Wednesday, February 8, 2012


By Mark Bishop

I think that I've driven me into a wall
Where once I knew best I know nothing at all

Where once I was proud, my own thoughts clear and loud
I now sit humbled with words only mumbled
speaking these jumbled fragments of me

Like a sailor who's lost his way at sea
with two compasses pointing quiet different directions
with his only companion the water's reflections
God, my soul thinks it knows how to be free
and longs to deny the rule of thee
but it cries out in vain for I'm starting to see

Your words are my good
Your grace is my should

And a life without you
is a life without me.

Friday, February 3, 2012

The Mislead Heart

By Mark Bishop

He loves the sound of despairing
of people not caring
while no one is daring to confront the truth

He loves the sound of babies crying
of the sick comforted by the dying
of mankind desperately trying to make it on their own

He is the voice that tells you to hide
to keep it inside
to listen instead to the thought in your head
subtly shaped by the pain and the shame and the blame
that you place on yourself for the things you've done
or haven't.
He holds you both ways but doesn't ask you to stay so much as bar the doors with the cords of your own heart
until leaving looks like death but staying steals the breath that brought you life at first.

So heed this warning
when you feel like warming your cold tired hands at the gates of hell
what your soul desires is not the heat of these fires
but the love from which He fell.