come . . .

when the world
chops down my dreams
and i am left
with only a cracked
and crumbling stump,
come . . .
to plant that seed of faith
deep within me
that will blossom
when i least expect it;

when sin's friends
strip me naked
of my hopes,
and i stand exposed
and alone
come . . .
with that ensemble
of joy and delight
that will knock
their socks off;

when my fears
prowl around me,
smacking their lips,
ready to pounce
and devour me,
come . . .
to welcome them
(and me!)
at your Table
where we will break
the chains of bitterness
as we feast on your peace.

come . . .
come . . .
come . . .

(c) 2007 Thom M. Shuman