#christianpoetry — Public Fediverse posts

Tempered Heart

The temptation of that spirit of distrust
Is an enemy to defeat and we must

For it always comes when times are dark
To place an attack upon your aching heart

But God is not a man that He should lie…
For He’s made precious promises to you and I

Promises that He has spoken
Promises that He’s never broken

Promises He has kept
Even as we wept

So whenever distrust tries building a home in your head…
Lift your eyes unto those blessed hills instead

For under the shadow of the Almighty you will find
An abiding peace for your heart and mind.

© c.f. leach, 2026. Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

The Sabbath Sabotage

They told us
holiness was neat,
pressed flat like Sunday clothes,
folded into bulletins,
spoken in indoor voices,
kept safely between hymns
and handshakes.

They told us
Sabbath was a soft thing,
a nap for the soul,
a gentle pause
before returning
to the holy machinery
of earning, buying, proving, becoming.

But Sabbath was never safe.

Sabbath is a wrench
thrown into Pharaoh’s gears.
A door barred against the market.
A candle lit
in defiance of the floodlights.
A refusal
to kneel before the stopwatch.
A holy no
rising like thunder
from tired bones.

Six days, they say,
you shall labor.
And the seventh?
The seventh is mutiny.

The seventh day
the fields are not your masters.
The ledgers do not own your name.
The inbox may howl
like a beast outside the gate,
but you will not feed it.
The empire counts bricks.
Sabbath counts blessings.
The empire demands output.
Sabbath gathers manna
and says, enough.

Enough for today.
Enough for this body.
Enough for this earth.
Enough for a life
that was never meant
to be fed into furnaces
just to keep the towers warm.

Sabbath is not laziness.
It is revolt
with bread on the table.
It is trust
with dirt under the fingernails.
It is the slave
remembering he is human.
The widow
remembering she is seen.
The ox
remembering grass.
The land
remembering how to breathe.

And maybe that is why
they sabotage Sabbath.

Because rest breaks rank.
Because silence interrupts slogans.
Because delight cannot be monetized forever.
Because a people
who learn to stop
may also learn
they can refuse.

Refuse the lie
that worth is measured in production.
Refuse the sermon
of profit without mercy.
Refuse the fear
that if we cease for one day
the world will fall apart—
as though we were the ones
holding up the stars.

No.
Sabbath is the admission
that we are not God,
and the miracle
that God is still good.

So let the engines choke.
Let the schedules stutter.
Let the tyrants call it weakness.
Let the anxious call it waste.
Let the merchants stand bewildered
before shuttered stalls
and unhurried hearts.

For this is the sabotage:
to rest in a restless world,
to feast in a famine of joy,
to loosen your fist
when all of history
has trained it to clench.

To stop.
To breathe.
To bless.
To remember
that we were not made
for endless extraction,
but for communion—
with God,
with neighbor,
with creature,
with soil,
with our own forgotten souls.

And so, on the seventh day,
we commit our small rebellion:
we light candles against consumption,
set tables against despair,
sing psalms against the grind,
and call this shattered life
still sacred.

This is no small thing.
This is how the kingdom enters:
not always with trumpets,
but with napping children,
unbought hours,
shared bread,
and a people audacious enough
to believe
that the world can turn
without their frantic striving.

Blessed are the saboteurs of empire.
Blessed are the keepers of Sabbath.
Blessed are the tired
who lay their burden down
and find, beneath the weight of all they carried,
a joy the masters could not confiscate.

For every Sabbath kept
is a crack in the idol.
Every prayer whispered at rest
is a seed beneath the pavement.
Every holy pause
is a hammer blow
against the myth
that Caesar owns time.

He does not.
The clock does not.
The market does not.

Time belongs to God.
And God,
in mercy,
has given some of it back to us.

The Sabbath Sabotage

They told us
holiness was neat,
pressed flat like Sunday clothes,
folded into bulletins,
spoken in indoor voices,
kept safely between hymns
and handshakes.

They told us
Sabbath was a soft thing,
a nap for the soul,
a gentle pause
before returning
to the holy machinery
of earning, buying, proving, becoming.

But Sabbath was never safe.

Sabbath is a wrench
thrown into Pharaoh’s gears.
A door barred against the market.
A candle lit
in defiance of the floodlights.
A refusal
to kneel before the stopwatch.
A holy no
rising like thunder
from tired bones.

Six days, they say,
you shall labor.
And the seventh?
The seventh is mutiny.

The seventh day
the fields are not your masters.
The ledgers do not own your name.
The inbox may howl
like a beast outside the gate,
but you will not feed it.
The empire counts bricks.
Sabbath counts blessings.
The empire demands output.
Sabbath gathers manna
and says, enough.

Enough for today.
Enough for this body.
Enough for this earth.
Enough for a life
that was never meant
to be fed into furnaces
just to keep the towers warm.

Sabbath is not laziness.
It is revolt
with bread on the table.
It is trust
with dirt under the fingernails.
It is the slave
remembering he is human.
The widow
remembering she is seen.
The ox
remembering grass.
The land
remembering how to breathe.

And maybe that is why
they sabotage Sabbath.

Because rest breaks rank.
Because silence interrupts slogans.
Because delight cannot be monetized forever.
Because a people
who learn to stop
may also learn
they can refuse.

Refuse the lie
that worth is measured in production.
Refuse the sermon
of profit without mercy.
Refuse the fear
that if we cease for one day
the world will fall apart—
as though we were the ones
holding up the stars.

No.
Sabbath is the admission
that we are not God,
and the miracle
that God is still good.

So let the engines choke.
Let the schedules stutter.
Let the tyrants call it weakness.
Let the anxious call it waste.
Let the merchants stand bewildered
before shuttered stalls
and unhurried hearts.

For this is the sabotage:
to rest in a restless world,
to feast in a famine of joy,
to loosen your fist
when all of history
has trained it to clench.

To stop.
To breathe.
To bless.
To remember
that we were not made
for endless extraction,
but for communion—
with God,
with neighbor,
with creature,
with soil,
with our own forgotten souls.

And so, on the seventh day,
we commit our small rebellion:
we light candles against consumption,
set tables against despair,
sing psalms against the grind,
and call this shattered life
still sacred.

This is no small thing.
This is how the kingdom enters:
not always with trumpets,
but with napping children,
unbought hours,
shared bread,
and a people audacious enough
to believe
that the world can turn
without their frantic striving.

Blessed are the saboteurs of empire.
Blessed are the keepers of Sabbath.
Blessed are the tired
who lay their burden down
and find, beneath the weight of all they carried,
a joy the masters could not confiscate.

For every Sabbath kept
is a crack in the idol.
Every prayer whispered at rest
is a seed beneath the pavement.
Every holy pause
is a hammer blow
against the myth
that Caesar owns time.

He does not.
The clock does not.
The market does not.

Time belongs to God.
And God,
in mercy,
has given some of it back to us.

The Sabbath Sabotage

They told us
holiness was neat,
pressed flat like Sunday clothes,
folded into bulletins,
spoken in indoor voices,
kept safely between hymns
and handshakes.

They told us
Sabbath was a soft thing,
a nap for the soul,
a gentle pause
before returning
to the holy machinery
of earning, buying, proving, becoming.

But Sabbath was never safe.

Sabbath is a wrench
thrown into Pharaoh’s gears.
A door barred against the market.
A candle lit
in defiance of the floodlights.
A refusal
to kneel before the stopwatch.
A holy no
rising like thunder
from tired bones.

Six days, they say,
you shall labor.
And the seventh?
The seventh is mutiny.

The seventh day
the fields are not your masters.
The ledgers do not own your name.
The inbox may howl
like a beast outside the gate,
but you will not feed it.
The empire counts bricks.
Sabbath counts blessings.
The empire demands output.
Sabbath gathers manna
and says, enough.

Enough for today.
Enough for this body.
Enough for this earth.
Enough for a life
that was never meant
to be fed into furnaces
just to keep the towers warm.

Sabbath is not laziness.
It is revolt
with bread on the table.
It is trust
with dirt under the fingernails.
It is the slave
remembering he is human.
The widow
remembering she is seen.
The ox
remembering grass.
The land
remembering how to breathe.

And maybe that is why
they sabotage Sabbath.

Because rest breaks rank.
Because silence interrupts slogans.
Because delight cannot be monetized forever.
Because a people
who learn to stop
may also learn
they can refuse.

Refuse the lie
that worth is measured in production.
Refuse the sermon
of profit without mercy.
Refuse the fear
that if we cease for one day
the world will fall apart—
as though we were the ones
holding up the stars.

No.
Sabbath is the admission
that we are not God,
and the miracle
that God is still good.

So let the engines choke.
Let the schedules stutter.
Let the tyrants call it weakness.
Let the anxious call it waste.
Let the merchants stand bewildered
before shuttered stalls
and unhurried hearts.

For this is the sabotage:
to rest in a restless world,
to feast in a famine of joy,
to loosen your fist
when all of history
has trained it to clench.

To stop.
To breathe.
To bless.
To remember
that we were not made
for endless extraction,
but for communion—
with God,
with neighbor,
with creature,
with soil,
with our own forgotten souls.

And so, on the seventh day,
we commit our small rebellion:
we light candles against consumption,
set tables against despair,
sing psalms against the grind,
and call this shattered life
still sacred.

This is no small thing.
This is how the kingdom enters:
not always with trumpets,
but with napping children,
unbought hours,
shared bread,
and a people audacious enough
to believe
that the world can turn
without their frantic striving.

Blessed are the saboteurs of empire.
Blessed are the keepers of Sabbath.
Blessed are the tired
who lay their burden down
and find, beneath the weight of all they carried,
a joy the masters could not confiscate.

For every Sabbath kept
is a crack in the idol.
Every prayer whispered at rest
is a seed beneath the pavement.
Every holy pause
is a hammer blow
against the myth
that Caesar owns time.

He does not.
The clock does not.
The market does not.

Time belongs to God.
And God,
in mercy,
has given some of it back to us.

The Sabbath Sabotage

They told us
holiness was neat,
pressed flat like Sunday clothes,
folded into bulletins,
spoken in indoor voices,
kept safely between hymns
and handshakes.

They told us
Sabbath was a soft thing,
a nap for the soul,
a gentle pause
before returning
to the holy machinery
of earning, buying, proving, becoming.

But Sabbath was never safe.

Sabbath is a wrench
thrown into Pharaoh’s gears.
A door barred against the market.
A candle lit
in defiance of the floodlights.
A refusal
to kneel before the stopwatch.
A holy no
rising like thunder
from tired bones.

Six days, they say,
you shall labor.
And the seventh?
The seventh is mutiny.

The seventh day
the fields are not your masters.
The ledgers do not own your name.
The inbox may howl
like a beast outside the gate,
but you will not feed it.
The empire counts bricks.
Sabbath counts blessings.
The empire demands output.
Sabbath gathers manna
and says, enough.

Enough for today.
Enough for this body.
Enough for this earth.
Enough for a life
that was never meant
to be fed into furnaces
just to keep the towers warm.

Sabbath is not laziness.
It is revolt
with bread on the table.
It is trust
with dirt under the fingernails.
It is the slave
remembering he is human.
The widow
remembering she is seen.
The ox
remembering grass.
The land
remembering how to breathe.

And maybe that is why
they sabotage Sabbath.

Because rest breaks rank.
Because silence interrupts slogans.
Because delight cannot be monetized forever.
Because a people
who learn to stop
may also learn
they can refuse.

Refuse the lie
that worth is measured in production.
Refuse the sermon
of profit without mercy.
Refuse the fear
that if we cease for one day
the world will fall apart—
as though we were the ones
holding up the stars.

No.
Sabbath is the admission
that we are not God,
and the miracle
that God is still good.

So let the engines choke.
Let the schedules stutter.
Let the tyrants call it weakness.
Let the anxious call it waste.
Let the merchants stand bewildered
before shuttered stalls
and unhurried hearts.

For this is the sabotage:
to rest in a restless world,
to feast in a famine of joy,
to loosen your fist
when all of history
has trained it to clench.

To stop.
To breathe.
To bless.
To remember
that we were not made
for endless extraction,
but for communion—
with God,
with neighbor,
with creature,
with soil,
with our own forgotten souls.

And so, on the seventh day,
we commit our small rebellion:
we light candles against consumption,
set tables against despair,
sing psalms against the grind,
and call this shattered life
still sacred.

This is no small thing.
This is how the kingdom enters:
not always with trumpets,
but with napping children,
unbought hours,
shared bread,
and a people audacious enough
to believe
that the world can turn
without their frantic striving.

Blessed are the saboteurs of empire.
Blessed are the keepers of Sabbath.
Blessed are the tired
who lay their burden down
and find, beneath the weight of all they carried,
a joy the masters could not confiscate.

For every Sabbath kept
is a crack in the idol.
Every prayer whispered at rest
is a seed beneath the pavement.
Every holy pause
is a hammer blow
against the myth
that Caesar owns time.

He does not.
The clock does not.
The market does not.

Time belongs to God.
And God,
in mercy,
has given some of it back to us.

Find comfort, hope, and inspiration through heartfelt Christian poems that uplift the soul and strengthen faith. 🙏📖 Discover powerful verses that remind you of God’s love, grace, and purpose in every season of life.

Read more: https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/christian-poems-encouragement/

#ChristianPoetry #FaithJourney #SpiritualGrowth #InspirationalReads #GodsLove #ChristianLiving

Faith-filled poetry carries both inspiration and responsibility—it has the power to encourage hearts, strengthen belief, and point readers toward hope and truth. Through meaningful words and spiritual reflection, poetry becomes more than expression; it becomes a message of purpose, faith, and encouragement.

#ChristianPoetry #FaithInWords #SpiritualReflection #GodsPurpose #InspirationalWriting #FaithJourney

A Mother’s Love

On this Mother’s Day, we thank the Lord above,
For mothers who reflect His mercy, grace, and love.
With gentle hands and faithful prayers…
That shower God’s light in daily care.

No matter how difficult the task
On her knees for wisdom she asks…
For Him to make the path straight
As for an answered prayer she waits.

Her heart is steady, kind, and true,
Sharing blessings from Heaven ev’ry day fresh and new
May Christ surround her as long as she lives
And guide her footsteps for all she gives.

“Her children rise up and call her blessed;
Her husband also, and he praises her:” (Proverbs 31:28 NKJV)

© c.f. leach, 2026. Revised 05/13/2026 Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

Christian poetry is more than words—it’s worship expressed through reflection, faith, and devotion. It inspires readers to see God in everyday life while strengthening spiritual connection, hope, and gratitude through heartfelt expression.

#ChristianPoetry #FaithInWords #WorshipThroughWriting #SpiritualReflection #GodsPurpose #InspirationalFaith

Christian poetry is more than words on a page—it’s worship in written form. It expresses faith, hope, and devotion while drawing readers closer to God through reflection and truth. Each poem becomes a reminder of purpose, grace, and spiritual connection.

#ChristianPoetry #FaithInWords #WorshipThroughWriting #SpiritualReflection #GodsPurpose #InspirationalFait

In every line of poetry, God’s sovereignty shines—reminding us that no moment is random, no struggle unseen. Through faith-filled words, we’re invited to trust His divine plan, where His power, grace, and purpose reign over all things.

#GodsSovereignty #FaithThroughPoetry #TrustGod #SpiritualReflection #DivinePlan #ChristianPoetry

Promises And Possibilities

When life gets hard and you don’t know what to do…
Trust in the Lord, He will see you through

When you’ve lost your strength and have none to find
Pray to Him for peace of mind

When the world looks bleak and no hope do you see
Remember He’s that light for you and me.

The conclusion to the whole matter anywhere you look…
You’ll find the anwer just open His Book

And in those many pages you will see…
All the hope and promises for you and for me.

© c.f. leach, 2026. Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

Find hope and inspiration in Christian Poetry & Reflections — poems and insights that lift the spirit and deepen your walk with God.

🔗 booksofcordellctaylor.com/christian-poetry-reflections/

#ChristianPoetry #FaithAndHope #SpiritualReflection #InspirationalReads #ChristianAuthor #DevotionalPoems #GodsWord

Backslider, Return

Same old battles, and always troubled
It didn't get better. My woes doubled
What's the reason? I'm totally floored!
Frustrated and weary, I left the Lord

But where am I headed? I simply roam
Dare I think of going back home?
What, this time, will be made right?
I see no sun. Just the black midnight.

A voice so sweet, and yet so stern
reminds me that I know where to turn
Years have passed. Is it too late?
I wonder. I ponder, and I wait.

Time is passing. It's slipping away
Yesterday's gone. But there's still today
I'll never be happy. Never be whole
Until Christ is back in my soul

Dear God, I give up. I surrender all
Restore me, Lord. I've heard Your call
The way might be bumpy, rough, uphill
But I claim blessing, if I do Your will

©2024 First Page by HeavenlyManna.net

https://heavenlymanna.net/christianArticle.php?article_id=1393
#Backslider #LostSheep #ChristianPoetry #ChristianPoems #Inspirational

Night Vision

Was in the wrong place with the right intensions
But soon discovered that good intensions fall into several dimensions
When you’re at a masquerade party
And deceit has become so hearty…

Don’t allow bitterness to enter the process
You’ll miss the mark I must confess
Unless you keep searching for God’s truth
Then the answer will become more resolute

The more you study the Word and discernment kicks in
You will find that God is your one true friend
The enemy in his cunningness
Will try to keep your destiny in a mess..

For he knows time is unforgiving unless God chooses to redeem it
No matter how dark the prospects—Father’s righteous path is still lit
Just forgive, pray, repent and keep moving on…
And before you know it He’ll show you exactly what is wrong.

© c.f. leach, 2026. Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

Be uplifted by inspiring Christian poems that remind us of God’s love, faithfulness, and the hope we carry through every trial. Let these words strengthen your faith and encourage your heart.

Read more: https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/christian-poems-encouragement/

#ChristianPoetry #FaithAndHope #CordellCTaylor #Encouragement #ChristianInspiration #FaithJourney

@authorsharonfkay

Searching for words that inspire faith and touch the heart?

Discover the powerful message behind Books of Cordell C. Taylor. His book “The Lord Is My Inspiration for God’s Nation” shares heartfelt Christian poems written to encourage faith, hope, and a deeper connection with God. These words aim to uplift readers and remind them of God’s love and purpose.

🔗 Discover more: https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/

#CordellCTaylor #ChristianPoetry #FaithInspired
#SpiritualReading

Poetry becomes a powerful expression of God’s sovereignty—revealing His control, grace, and purpose through every verse. Discover how faith-filled poetry reflects trust in God’s will and invites deeper reflection, worship, and spiritual growth. https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/poetry-gods-sovereignty/

#GodsSovereignty #ChristianPoetry #FaithJourney #SpiritualGrowth #TrustGod #Worship

A Reflection of Divine Love

Mending hearts is how He works…
While angels stand watch as His clerks
Mending relationships He does that too
All because He loves me and you.

While we sleep
His angels stand keep
While we walk
He often talks

When we cry
His Words are a lullaby
For every trouble that finds us…
Teaching us in Him we must always trust

No matter how many failures or tries…
He keeps us under His watchful eye
Every step we take He forever keeps…
For He who keeps us never slumbers or sleep

And in this we should be thankful everyday
For it is He who eternally keeps us in His way.

© c.f. leach, 2026. Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

In pain and uncertainty, words can become refuge. Uplifting Christian poetry that reminds us grace flows even in our darkest seasons.
Read here: https://www.jacquidelorenzo.com/post/uplifting-christian-poetry-gems-that-reflect-god-s-grace

#ChristianPoetry #Faith #Grace #Healing #Hope #SpiritualGrowth

Experience the power of faith and inspiration through Cordell Taylor’s Christian poetry. Uplifting, hopeful, and full of guidance for the soul.

Read more: https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/christian-poetry-book/

#ChristianPoetry #Faith #Inspiration #CordellTaylor #Hope #SpiritualGrowth #Encouragement

Hope Eternal

His death, to many…
brought grief upon grief
And in their hearts
There was no sign of relief

Their Jesus was gone
This was oh, so wrong
They’d spread the palms
And sang the song…

But what they could not see
Their salvation was on the way
For when He gave up the ghost
We were all saved that day

Then on that third day he rose with all power and might
Was seen by many, by day and by night
And because of His great sacrifice we all now see
What a marvelous Savior He is to you and to me.

© c.f. leach, 2026. Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

Discover Christian poetry that uplifts the soul, strengthens your faith, and brings hope to your heart.

Explore inspiring verses that guide your spiritual journey: https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/christian-poetry-book/

#ChristianPoetry #Faith #SpiritualGrowth #Inspiration #Prayer #Hope

Sorrow’s Embrace

“He saw the weight, the silent cost,
A world undone, a people lost.
Yet bore it all with steadfast grace,
Love written deep in sorrow’s face.

From wounded soul came mercy’s plea,
That many might be counted free.
Through pain, a purpose shining true—
Our debts were paid, our hearts made new.”

© c.f. leach, 2026. Copyright protected. All rights reserved.

If you love thoughtful and inspiring expressions of faith, Spiritual Poetry and the Power of Prayer blends moving poetry with meaningful reflection to uplift your spirit and strengthen your walk with God…
https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/spiritual-poetry-prayer/

#ChristianPoetry #Inspiration #GodsWord

If you love meaningful words and spiritual reflection, What Defines a Christian Poetry Book Today explores how Christian poetry expresses faith, hope, and truth, revealing why it continues to inspire readers today…
Discover more ➜ https://www.booksofcordellctaylor.com/christian-poetry-book/

#ChristianPoetry #FaithAndArt #InspiredWords #MustRead

✝️ A Crushed Brick

Brick by brick I lay myself down bad
The hardest part over, it's been had
So now I must wait and remember:

She is patience, she is kind,
she is not jealous, boastful, proud, or rude.
She does not demand her way
nor is she irritable.
She does not keep record of wrong.
She rejoices her your truth.

So I must become like she.

#Poetry #Faith #Patience #Love #ChristianPoetry #Rebuild

Backslider, Return

Same old battles, and always troubled
It didn't get better. My woes doubled
What's the reason? I'm totally floored!
Frustrated and weary, I left the Lord

But where am I headed? I simply roam
Dare I think of going back home?
What, this time, will be made right?
I see no sun. Just the black midnight.

A voice so sweet, and yet so stern
reminds me that I know where to turn
Years have passed. Is it too late?
I wonder. I ponder, and I wait.

Time is passing. It's slipping away
Yesterday's gone. But there's still today
I'll never be happy. Never be whole
Until Christ is back in my soul

Dear God, I give up. I surrender all
Restore me, Lord. I've heard Your call
The way might be bumpy, rough, uphill
But I claim blessing, if I do Your will

©2024 First Page by HeavenlyManna.net

https://heavenlymanna.net/christianArticle.php?article_id=1393
#Backslider #LostSheep #ChristianPoetry #ChristianPoems #Inspirational

Backslider, Return

Same old battles, and always troubled
It didn't get better. My woes doubled
What's the reason? I'm totally floored!
Frustrated and weary, I left the Lord

But where am I headed? I simply roam
Dare I think of going back home?
What, this time, will be made right?
I see no sun. Just the black midnight.

A voice so sweet, and yet so stern
reminds me that I know where to turn
Years have passed. Is it too late?
I wonder. I ponder, and I wait.

Time is passing. It's slipping away
Yesterday's gone. But there's still today
I'll never be happy. Never be whole
Until Christ is back in my soul

Dear God, I give up. I surrender all
Restore me, Lord. I've heard Your call
The way might be bumpy, rough, uphill
But I claim blessing, if I do Your will

©2024 First Page by HeavenlyManna.net

https://heavenlymanna.net/christianArticle.php?article_id=1393
#Backslider #LostSheep #ChristianPoetry #ChristianPoems #Inspirational