On Discontentment


I was bored, numb, and sleepy-spirited,

until the snakes came. I saw them,

tongue first in the door, fire pouring, coiling lava lapping up.

I lay like the smell of complaint on the twisting tongue.

Fangs inject like molten nails. All Hell,

the fire, the eyes, puncture, the writhe.

And Moses prayed and God heard and refused to take the snakes away.

Not the hiss. Not the bite.

Only if we centered eyes on the bronze, that snake of fire he made in flames.

Only then, did the bite not burn. Only then did we escape.

***

these thoughts brought to you by one of the freakiest stories I’ve read in a while

amberhaines
About me

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5 Comments

Craig
Reply January 13, 2011

This is poetry I have missed reading.

It's like Peter on the water I think, he watched the waves and sunk, looked to Our Lord and walked. The ones who watched the snakes - well you spun those words well - the ones who looked up - freedom.

God bless you and yours Amber.

kendal
Reply January 13, 2011

and i recognize me. thanks. i think.

kendal
Reply January 13, 2011

hit submit too soon. what i mean by "i think" is not that your writing isn't awesome, but that i am convicted of something i don't really want to fix.

HopefulLeigh
Reply January 14, 2011

I love this, Amber! You have such an interesting perspective. This so aptly describes the discontentment I feel when I start focusing on what I don't have instead of what God has entrusted to me.

abbyleigh
Reply January 14, 2011

just read this passage this morning.
your poetry captures it with new light.

molten nails . . . i love that.

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