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About the Poem

Have you ever felt as if you're on the front lines of a war, but you can't see your enemy? A spiritual battle so extreme that you realize if you don't become better for it you will surely degenerate into a base thing?

Holy Remnant Rises

When the palm tree sways, bending to the ground
In the wind-powered storm, I recognize
The foundation of faith. Tempests surround
A tumultuous season. Deceiving lies
Haunt and forage deep within scattered souls.
Clouds streaked with sunlit rays; obscure, hidden
In corruption and unbelief. Warm oil,
The Lord's comfort, pleads, desperate to mend
Broken warriors; children most royal.
In the midst of those clawing and biting
Against truth, stand a righteous army cloaked
In humility and service; proclaiming
Victory despite the dismal blood-soaked
Hour. Ragged soldiers release a bold shout
And the holy remnant rises devout.
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© 1999 Judith Stafford Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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