Turning Tables

Can you imagine?

The claws of rejection flaunted on hands you once lifted up.

The very hand handled gently in its most exposed and vulnerable state

Now serves what it intends to be your fate; a hand full of bitterness. 

The tables have turned they say, but I say they are wrong.

If it were you would have fed me what I fed you

So the tables have flipped; what I held close to me, for you,

You now look at, for me, with disdain from a distance.

What was for me, from you, a priority is now for you, from me, a liability.

But you don’t get to shape my love.

My love, if I could let go then I would

but I’m not a man to lie so I  don’t think I should

In fact if I try, it will not work I bet

This love has an eternal hold it’s as strong as death.

My love, death binds me to you; can we talk about the cross? 

And not even in death as strong as it is can do us part.

Though you have frequently missed the mark, my love, you don’t get to shape my love.

When you said I could have your heart, I could have told you to shut up.

But in the height of these worship sessions you were very well caught up.

Too caught up to get your attention, 

Well, will you be caught up to reign in my mansion?

I did say oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh you could have my heart

Why does it feel like it’s clutched in my feeble hands to handle? 

But they are handle-less, having lost its ability to grip to a failed attempt at being perfect.

It’s too heavy a task, I am gasping for breath, asking that you take it please

Or I’ll break it, please, take it from me.

See, now your heart is in a place, just where it should be;

you being completely dependent on me.

They say if walls could talk, they would say how much I love

They are talking now and as they surround Jerusalem, so I surround you.

Songs of deliverance, let me serenade you.

You don’t get to shape my love, so, how dare you!

I’ll counsel you with my loving eyes on you, that’s my joy and pride

Even if the tables turn, my love, i’ll never change my side.

But you have the responsibility to stay seated.

The task is yours to stay put. You don’t get to jump out every time its gets rough.

Love, joy, peace, long-suffering; my love, I know you are tough.

You should have answered the call of suicide, but I interrupted the line.

 It was your last breath to take but there I was right! On! Time!

 You should have being taken out by pain;

You should have lost your mind because of losses. 

You should have lost you anchor by the waves the sea tosses

But look at you my love, still limping toward me even if it’s on crutches

Or, are you not? Give me your hand, I’ve made way to smooth the rough patches.

Your Love.

Written by Chevimus