Bus

Fur hats, long coats on a raggled old bus.
The smell of exhaust, and the sights of rust
Zooming past wood houses decrepit and aged.
Not a word is spoken, not hardly a gaze.

Over the bridge into the city, the churches can be seen.
What a marvelous sight, from this stoic scene.
By the school, and now past Kirov Square.
Grimaces seem audible by the nip in the air.

Pushing and shoving his way over to me.
“Here, show your ticket,” the conductor pleads.
Two rubles the fair, a bargain indeed.
Unless you have a pension and the economy recedes.

In my mind I turn to matters at hand.
My visa, the ministry, and the struggles of this land.
Days have at times just dragged so long.
Yet inside there’s peace, His strength my song.

When moments are compared how wild it seems.
One day on a train, alone, and reamed.
On other as I stroll my heart on the heights
Thankful to God, in his will heart delights.

On to the circus now, the ol’ beast wobbles on.
A turn and a jerk, and a blast on the horn.
From our path they escape to the safe of the walks.
No mercy, no fear the drivers eyes-locked.

What a ride I sigh as I step off to leave.
Brushing by faces all down and bereaved.
That old great beast now barrels away.
I, into the city, to the plans of the day.
-MEK

Distance

From Iberia to Siberia His love will reach.
From the shores of Baikal to Spains farthest beach.
In the heart of Mexico, in the jungles therein,
Even there His Spirit rustles within.
30,000 feet above Greenland his glory is known.
Her astral peaks in dawns pink glow.
In the streets of Tallinn, among the spires of Prague
His love is there, it carries me along.
In the Paria near a fire, in a dry and rocky place.
Even there his whispers speak glimpses of his face.
On the edge of the Grand Canyon his beauty is displayed.
In the Rockies of Montana the creation he has made.
From the back of that pickup, the eyes of a young boy did gaze,
On all of that celestial magnificence, and questions were raised.
What is He like? Does He know who I am?
Would He hear me if I call? Would He understand?
Through the taiga, on that train to the east I did sense
Once again His hand guiding us hence;
To bear forth his Word like so many times before
That they might believe, His Spirit we did implore.
And again, once more I experienced this anew,
that this God of ours is faithful and true.
-MEK

Re-entry

A tired wearied soul, timid and meek.
Sittin in his box in his 5-day work week
One moment fighting fires on the border of hell
The next he’s pushing paper-waitin for the lunch bell
These two realities just don’t relate.
He’s a commando at heart, a warrior by trade,
forced behind the beat of the commuting parade.
Confusion of the heart, a wandering of the soul,
Trying to find his way in this world gone cold.
Nobody gets him, he feels all alone,
All he wants right now is to find his way home.
But in this mess a lesson to be gained
Significance is in the cross and not in the game.
The war wages on-the rules remain the same
The only difference is the scenery has changed.