The other day, I had some noodles drowned in sauce.
I did not think there would be any loss,
But my life did kind of hurt
At its splattering on my bleach white t-shirt.
One slip, and now I bear the reddish stain
Of a new aversion to all noodles, which I ought not disdain.
It’s a shame I avoid dishes of my Master’s will,
For I evade those too because of one washable spill.
Yes, time and care must be taken,
But if not, what fear is next, bacon?!
-Austin Ward
Thou snake, my serpent, beguiling me by my eyes,
Thou too shalt see thy death when looking to the skies.
That radiant bliss, all glorious and divine,
I shall not know, thou seller of my wine.
Drunken, I stumble to thee, asking for blunder.
Why do I do such foolish things, I wonder?
My hand reaches for that crimson cup,
But only venom do I feel, my blood corrupt.
The crafty caller of my misplaced desires
Has deceived me with soft-singing choirs,
Angelically playing those voices of light,
And I let the sirens sound and the serpent bite.
Why must thou plague me so,
Oh serpent of my woe?
Can tenderness be found in thee?
I dare not perceive it be.
Thy sole purpose is to drown my heart
By tainted fruits of the vines of earth,
Let nature see my Father’s worth
Who sent His Son to bruise the head
Of the creature who still would have me dead.
Serpent, thy weedish flower is withered,
So return to the place where thou once slithered.
Thy wine has no effect but disgust,
And thy venom only turns into dust.
I do not claim to understand His grace,
I simply know it is mine to fastly embrace.
So take thyself, bold serpent, back to the abyss,
For thou, such a traitorous one, I shall not miss.
-Austin Ward
It is time for Josiah’s way?
The temple is full of other gods.
These idols must be gone today,
These mesmerizing messes of rock and sod.
They turn my eyes to a cloudy haze
Away from my Savior, the perfect Lamb.
Their dirty prophets, the stones, and their priests I’ll raze,
For they hold contempt for the Great I AM.
Shall I mourn for them? No.
I shall rejoice that God is God alone.
-Austin Ward
Phil. 1:21,
6/12/07
Those who know the full power of sin
Are the ones who stand and don't give in,
For they have braved the flood and waves,
Since they know and cry, "Jesus saves, Jesus saves."
Sin's mortal wounds that marred Christ's side
Leave all exposed and none to hide.
Those who know this full foul strength of sin
Are the ones who let no evil in,
Though still the invasion moves on,
Til Christ with wounded hands the victory won.
Darkness ought to fear His Name,
For Christ the Light, He took our blame.
He who knows the full malice of sin
Is the one who died to save all men,
Though perfect, yet man still is He,
We vile creatures were saved, by His blood made free.
Resistance to sin brought Christ's death,
Yet power more than sin gave breath.
-Austin Ward
8/28/06
Cheapened, my love is cheapened
By your abuse of its cleansing power.
You do not see me as you ought, my child,
But less than your sin’s preceding hour.
Cheapened, my love is cheapened
By your misuse of its holy virtue
That seeks to put asunder what I’ve bought:
I died that sin’s death might not hurt you.
Splattered on the ground, you use my blood
To sacrifice to your unfulfilling Baals.
How shall I deal with such a sinful flood,
Which drowns my child in what he fails?
Will Josiah’s way be fitting for these idols?
This question I intend for my son.
Decide, love, should you be cosmocidal
To all the things which you call fun?
Holy, my love is holy,
Not meant as a license to excuse sin.
Do not shrug it off when sin entices your heart;
Do not allow transgressions to win.
Holy, my love is holy;
Ponder instead my deep divinity.
Remember who I truly am, dear love:
I AM, the Eternal Infinity.
-Austin Ward
The shedding of blood,
No remission for sins.
What gift-giving can sting more
With the sharp loss but no gain?
The death on the cross was not all that was mine,
But the cattle’s slaughter and the dove’s blood spill:
They belong to me, too.
The death of which I speak is not one, but two.
The first is the weight of all sin
Bringing the Father to crush me,
And what’s more, that it would please Him to do it.
The second is the whole history of the altar,
Its sacrifices and burnt offerings, innocent and cursed
By the knife of my sin’s lethal need for a perfect sacrifice
Through a God who is patient to love me so
While still my very life has earned His own full wrath.
God shedding His blood,
My remission for sins.
What gift-giving can sting more
With Messiah’s death but my life?
The death on the cross was not all that was mine,
But the Lamb’s slaughter and the wrath cup’s spill:
They belong to me, too.
The death of which I speak is Christ’s, paid and pardoned by my Judge.
I shed my unholy shell
Because I am bought.
Lambs and cattle no longer inhabit my home’s realm,
But now the sacrifices which please you:
A contrite heart and a broken spirit You will not despise.
View my contrition now, oh God, as I ruthlessly die,
Happily constrained to be Your own.
Lord, help me die, taking the death You have offered instead of my own.
-Austin Ward
Take my ransomed, rugged soul
And transform me into something new.
Let me sing thy song daily
Of the day you saved this chilling corpse.
Bring forth thy light in my eyes, oh my God.
For they are welling with longing for thee!
Strength lacks the power within me,
But within thee, I am there alone filled.
Change my form within this brittle, sin-stained wineskin.
Mark me for thy kingdom there so I may not scorn thee then.
Be changed forever, oh my wretched soul,
By the God who now sets thy protesting heart free!
The weight of sorrows still seeks to bring me down,
But let none, let none see thy servant by thee drown!
Bitter toil and torment trouble me all the day,
But only with thee, my Lord, shall I in it stay.
Let my beggar’s heart find a generous king
Who sacrificed himself for the lowest filth.
Though vile and unworthy this breathing dust be,
Let thy grace, my God, Savior, be only found in thee.
May this drunkard soul of mine be not left to drown
In self-made pits of his old wine’s unfavorable course.
A new spirit altogether do I long for and stumble to find,
Thy holy Spirit indeed, my God, help my miserable way!
A harlot’s life have I lived, my own enemies within my bed.
Night after night, I’ve harbored the numbing betrayal
Of thy creation abused for sake of selfish pleasures enjoyed.
Lord, my Lord, forgive thy sluttish wife!
Cursed be the knife I’ve laid deep within thy martyr’s skin!
Laden now, thy blood on my hands, I can kill no more!
My hand needs cleaning from my strained murderous altar!
Cleanse, oh God, this killer of thy blessed works!
My thieving heart deserves no lot in the kingdom of my God,
For what could earn a peace which he, my God, afforded me?
The stolen glory, all vain, all mine, has gilded me in loudest shame.
Wash this hand, oh God, caught stealing thy royal crown.
-Austin Ward
