Christmas Poetry - The Saga of Atonement

[Long ago I read the Kalevala, the mythological epic of Finland and found its special meter (trochic tetrameter) to be one of the most compelling things about it. I wanted to write poetry of some kind for Christmas, and basically this is what happened. The rhythm is very suited for long poems, and I may very well gradually expand it in the future to tell the entire story of salvation. Either way, I hope you are blessed by my feeble attempts at wordsmithery. Merry Christmas!]

Long in comfort darkness dwelling

Long the shadows on them lay

Those that name the Name of Israel

Waited for a coming day

Legions Roman hold their cities 

Legions Demon hold their souls

Priests of rules the rules abandon

Stealing tithes but washing bowls

Now a spark in shadow shining

Now a light begins to burn

Virgin she yet bears a firstborn

In their fields the shepherds learn

Angels sing in choirs angelic

Angels fallen shout in fear

Know they well the Son of David

Clothed in flesh now He is here

*

Eastern men of wisdom find Him

Eastern skies reveal a star

Furious a false king seeks Him

Safely fled to Nile afar

Nazareth receives Him homeward

Nazareth what good from there

By the lakeside woodcraft learning

Feels He all our mortal care

Now the fire begins a-blazing

Now Redeemer deems it time

Calling to Him sons of Israel

Breaking rules without a crime

From the desert flees the tempter

From the desert cries a voice

Kingdom coming heaven calling

Rich and poor must make a choice

*

Teachers of the law oppose Him

Teachers taught to listen well

Crowds are sated storms are silenced

Yeast and salt and fires of hell

Turns He fishers into preachers

Turns He to Jerusalem

Waving palms but palming silver

One betrays the rest of them

Now the flames grow somber softly

Now the sorrow swiftly nears 

Chases cheaters from His temple

Truth He rains on arid ears

Cup and bread and night is falling

Cup of wrath and torches glow

Whips that cut the Son of Heaven

Peter cut by rooster's crow

*

Borne by boards He bears our sorrow

Borne aloft for Adam's fall

Crying out the work is finished

Gives His life our all in all

Death in mortal fear beholds Him

Death a stranger in His land

From the grave a King is rising

Scars in foot and side and hand

Now a mighty conflagration 

Now His love the world ignites

Sends us forth to speak His gospel

Seven lamps and seven lights.

Dwelling now in heaven's glory

Dwelling places He prepares

Now we wait for His returning

God Almighty None Compares

Footstool

He draws near.
And orthogonality ascends;
all creation bends itself into
hyperbolic caritas.
That which has been made
contains not its Maker
but reorients itself into perfection
around He who is perfection.
Now light is bent around
Him
and He is clothed
in darkness too bright
for gravity to endure.
That which is,
ceaselessly unmakes itself
crying Kadosh,
ceaselessly remade
as the Living One
gives it Being from
His Unfathomable Aseity.

He is not understood
through what has been made
for it cannot transmute
the transcendent;
in the twinkling of an eye
we are transposed,
and our souls cry Abba
as the flames of our souls
kindle our speech
to living meaning,
a conflagration of glory.

We become our praise
and offer ourselves to He
who is in all and through all and beyond all and behind and before and under and over and around and contains the all in all of what could ever be within His eternity of infinite eternities. Gloria.