Tag Archives: graveyardmusings


“Speak to the people of Israel, and tell them to make tassels on the corners of their garments throughout their generations, and to put a cord of blue on the tassel of each corner.” Number 15:38

Hallowed hands stitch the silken thread
Quietly the master weaver repairs the broken blue 
His indigo promise now hidden by the lure of the deceit tree 
The glamoured fruit clouds vision to see his majestic indigo 
that hugs the thin line in the genesis sign

Jewelled indigo sullied with dirt-stained hearts cheapen the blue
Purity less dignified, masked filters hide the truth of who, we have become
We contaminate the sapphire treasure purposed with care 
so lovingly seeded deep within 

The solitary tree stands sentinel, rooted in its own strength
The wood bends in honour from the burden of the one he carries
Upon his limbs, bloodied see-through palms sew the mercy stitch
The needle nails rust from bloody salted tears he weeps for his tarnished blue 
formed in him, through him, for him 

Lapis cries out for the gild of the Lamb
The broken host bleats in compassion for his treasure 
The veiled gold vein reflects the bloodied blue 
spilled from the lance we shield

Hardened hearts thirst for the glory 
to heal the exposed blue
The blue blood sovereign king humbly offers cura 
through the blood of the lamb 


Imago Dei, now shattered glass 
mirrors who he formed from the dirt 
His image bearers hammer the healing hands deep into the humility tree
carving both the limb and He, who mends our fractured clay hands
Bloodied fists smooth the weaponed shards with fired gold 
Holy blue stained palms absorb and heal his splattered indigo


In brokenness, we still

High above the rooted tree, redemption carefully lingers in his rise 
The canopied sky reflects the resurrected glory 
now pregnant with the rich indigo 
that drips down as rained dew 
magnifying the dust from which we came

The risen heart overflows and bursts open 
with the sacred indigo blood restoring both sky and sea
a mirrored reflection of the blue we were created to be
Azure blows his kiss from high as the few kneel below
And the wisdom of indigo opens vision to see anew
the purity of his blue

Blue: the sacred, holy colour

“There they saw the God of Israel. Under his feet there seemed to be a surface of brilliant blue lapis lazuli, as clear as the sky itself.” Exodus 24:10

Cura: latin – to careOur hearts put effort into who & what we care about. Our effort is where we find cura, our treasure.

“For where our treasure is; there our heart will be also.” Matthew 6:21

Fallowed Bones

“Let it rest, and lie fallow.” Exodus 23:11

Parading through the tombs
Osteon cries out, “dead man walking!” 
my stoic step trudges the graveyard path
quietly echoing the dormant season 
of the hallowed dirt 

Fallow settles 
white dust blankets 
the plotted land of dry bones
a cocooned season
the earth must still

Kairos quiets
for the fruitfulness to renew
the idle land sleeps 
for the dry bones to ready 
for the Word
Fallow seeps deep into the bones
unveiling the shadowed fruit 
that must be pruned, plowed under 
to nourish and renew 
my weary spirit

A life’s foundation 
bulldozed, flattened
exposes the rubble
and becomes a public spectacle 
of broken skeletal remains

The fallow season is upon 
and I too must sleep with the earth
until his breath 
waters the dry bones awake
that only He can renew 

I slumber in dreams
that long for his breath 
to resurrect my spirit
Kairos returns with the mist of his kiss
that gently wakes the fallow 

His hand steadies  
as we survey the dormant mess
of scattered dry bones 
that he created, living
to house His home

I see afresh, the burden of the dry bones
so agape deep, I moan under the weight 
of his love for those he mourns
awkwardly, I lift them high to see 
his love come down

I mimic the ass that journeyed 
the bones from which I came
the donkey was birthed a burden bearer
I was born to see, but not to bear
a gift of vision to point but not to carry home

My heart could not hold their footing 
and buckled under the weight 
I had forgotten the husbandry yoke needed 
and collapsed at the dung gate
scattering the dry bones 

He gently maneuvers  
through the graveyard of dry bones
and brings us to the crossroad tree
to behold, afresh the marker 
that gives life to the dry bones

He visions me from the lens of his longing
and asks, “can these bones live?” 
“only you know,” I whisper
eyes wet, my vision darkly clouds
of knowing the words to speak but not to bear

He motions to see 
him bear the burden of the tree
to know that he carries more weight 
than the ass his hands created
to carry his own bones home

He gives his living marrow 
in exchange 
for the dry bones that lie fallow
"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!" 
He breathes his last

I inhale the fragrance of his exhale
and drink in his perfumed sweat that moistens 
the fertility of the parched fruit seeds  
His naked skeleton resurrects the fallowed dry bones
a new sound rattles as the army clumsily rises

the fallowed dirt mingles with his spit
He gently soothes the manna paste 
over my eyes to see His Kairos Word  
I must leave the burden bearing to Him 
to carry the dry bones home

Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to Life. Ezekiel 37:4

So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet – a vast army. Ezekiel 37:10

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