Unsettled Scores

Unsettled Scores

(“But no weapon will be able to hurt you; you will have an answer for all who accuse you. I will defend my servants and give them victory.”)

("The Lord has spoken." Isaiah 54:17)

The fury arose from mudpuddle words; the heart froze and fist closed
around another granite reason to put someone in their place, to lay them
in the dirt, to equalize and measure out the lies and twisted words upon
the scales of justice.

But rage and roundhouse do not deal out judgment charily; as if
measuring ingredients for cakes and pies. The laboratory of vengeance
is smeared with flour, caked with butter, and blood flows invisibly from
sink to counter to floor to the

Next encounter to settle scores the have no sudden death playoff.

Where did it begin, this singeing we call equality? Where does it stop,
the expanding cycle, the stingy air that suffocates us all.

Why do I fret, the skies are full of angel shields. Why does worry
upend the smile upon the offer of walks with Jesus from morning’s
warble until
slumber’s placeholder for the dawn?

I am Your servant; You are my Father. I am no further from home
when the crude throats accuse or when the smooth lips whisper.
You speak softer, and as truth is truth, more often, then the
repeats and rewinds of people who have run out of new words;
they spit old, worn out words and dare me to learn the same vocabulary,
and send them back doubly swift and tear the rift so much wider.

Let the fury sink below the arrow’s target; leave measurements to
someone with better sight. Open the fists numbed by now;
drop the stones to the ground from which they’ve grown,
and learn the Words or keep the Silence; hear the Harm
caused by Violence, and leave the battles behind.