Flames by Jeremiah Samson

 

you first heard the voice of God from the flames,
the quiet sparks shooting out
God-speak.
there you learned to take off your shoes, to
abandon your clues, to distrust your eyes and trust
a not-so-burning bush.

on that Mount, you became a body
shape-shifting into sacrifice, a man
reborn from fires.

flame is a tricky thing;
it wouldn't burn except you're kindling.
you were kindling, pure heat blazing steadily,
every spark igniting you through and through,
but now...
you are the burning bush – on fire yet not burning.


the next time you would hear God,
your eyes were watching, waiting for God to do a new thing.
but when the ground opened you quivered in fear,
cause the death of the flesh came when Elyon was near.

you were never really here. you've felt like
ashes cast away, you don't know how to push the past away yet
you push anyway.
unburned bush, you learned to sacrifice you, to
make flames from unwilling kindling, you've been
a trinity of sorts:
fire, altar, and sacrifice.

and today, when you heard God speak from the
carnations the flames shoots off, you let yourself become
altar, sacrifice, and a fire fed anew again.
you let Him teach you what it meant to be flame, what it meant to
bear his name; to thaw from cold to hot.
to brandish his blood thickly across your chest,
set apart from the Liar as a

brand plucked out of fire.