AN ITCH YOU CANNOT SCRATCH

So many meaningless platitudes

Resurgent and brimming with light

Continue to flow while attitudes

Reflect the insidious blight.

.

.

Actual meanings are hidden so well

Sound like a meaningful flow

Of eulogy whose preponderance

Ascends in the afterglow.

.

.

Of warmth and condescension,

There is nothing left to surmise,

Except the insidious flow of bull

That may take you by surprise.

.

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I trust you are not shocked out of your socks.

I trust you can still empathize

With a suffering, wounded soldier,

So you will not criticize—

.

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A real scream of pain and agony,

I do not want to relive this plot.

I know that another suffered for me!

An agony I could not!

.

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So what is the point of dwelling on it?

Except to say that I had never

Begin to consider the price He endured

To gain my salvation, ever!

.

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Innocence means nothing at all

Except as applying to Him.

Not innocence, not sinlessness,

Not even with Christ within.

.

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His sinlessness is imputed to us

For we do not deserve nor earn,

Whatever we have we received from Him!

It is either receive or burn!

.

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Such a simple contemplation!

Of course, we do not want to burn,

Two broken ribs is pain enough! (*)

I will go with Him, “So I will earn?”

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So sorry!  It cannot be earned, you see

It is a gift from Him to me!

Freely receive, I must!  Cannot earn.

My love for Him too is free!

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(*) especially when you cough or sneeze.

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Sam Cox 7.6.05.

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