The cross marked on my soul

Each willful soul must bear the mark
Of “the cross” on earth lost in the dark

“The cross” is mission on red-carpet bling
And in a country “of thee I sing”

Steeple’s and churches bear this cross
Now vacant property that’s all but loss

We sing of a rugged cross and a crown
Yet my trophys are mine… I refuse to lay down

It’s marked as a symbol of Christ on ones chest
Though it’s shrouded in mystery of hope at its best

This cross that exposes my failure and shame
Gently covers, and comforts, and heals all the same

No measure or mark of our world’s oppression
Can match a matchless grace-obsession

An ornament of love once given and forbearing
Just now a cross, that’s gentle and not glaring.

A crossing symbol of death and rising
Seems no where found on souls…not surprising

Packed carefully and artfully on Sunday’s long talk
The cross on my life meant for Monday’s long walk

To live having died with my soul being marked
With a cross bearing Jesus on my life I embark

Ambition and passion in the cross now I please
When I reach out to serve the least of these.

by Jon Talbert