Flames flickering in every direction,
Running wildly in every direction.
Stamp one out and two more come up,
Embers arguing until a wind stirs them up.
I wave my arms to reign them in,
To gather them in.
Chicks fleeing my herding,
Half going the way I want,
Half the other.
Catch the fleeing ones and hold them.
Gentler than gentle,
Coax them the other way,
Fire searing me in the face
All the way.
I am on fire,
A farmer burning in the fields of harvest,
Failure and fortune,
Folly and freedom,
Furious frustration burning me down as love draws me on.
I am dying from His joy, and I fear there will be nothing left.
(I wrote this poem about five days into my one-week mission trip to New York, at the end of my ropes emotionally and driven to intense prayer and a deeper reliance on Jesus. This is what came out after one night of prayer, and it seems to be the point where the floodgates of poetry writing were opened.)