Two Hundred Foreskins

I’m fighting in writing this poem right now,

As a battle in heaven proceeds,

In the early hours as I turn in my bed,

I turn to the word for my needs.


On my knees.

I ask for help from above,

As the struggle’s too deep to perceive,

This quandary I have,

In this story of love,

Where the devil is trying to deceive.


Goliath is dead!

We chopped off his head,

Defeated with a stone and a sling,

In this time let’s remember,

That from June ‘til December,

We were dancing to His rhythm,

With His words we could sing.


While this season may linger,

And the wait might seem slow,

We know in the end,

It won’t tarry,

Something needs shifting,

A spirit must go,

A burden too heavy to carry.


We’re closer than it seems,

To see our dreams, hopes, and desires,

Transpire to reality on view,

A hundred foreskins,

Is what He requires,

Before we can say;

“I do”.


Before I do,

There’s something to be done,

To dodge the spear from pinning me to the wall,

With a harp in my hand,

And loyal fighters by my side,

These Philistine armies will fall.


I might not be rich, in fact, I am broke,

And my name is not that well known,

But the broken He’ll use, so His story is spoken,

Neither silver nor gold,

But His glory is shown.


There’s a limit to this time,

And before it runs out,

We’ll walk round these walls,

Then with a trumpet we’ll shout.


The bricks will make way,

To a heart once of stone,

“I do”, we will say,

And go,

Straight in;



So here, I stand,

With the One with the plan,

Who gives more than we ask for,

I hold out my hand.


With help from the Lord,

And your patience and love,

Here’s where this season begins,

When it ends we’ll be free,

And see in our hands not one,

But two hundred foreskins.




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