Ode to the Temples of Flesh

Ode to the Temples of Flesh

Sacred vessels of the divine,
Wherein the spirit finds its home,
The fleshly temples, strong and fine,
Where hearts and souls in concert roam.

From dust and clay, Yahweh molded,
Breathed into us a living flame,
That we may rise from earth untold,
To bear and live His holy name.

In these corporeal abodes, we dwell,
Where whispers of eternity sound,
A rampart of the heavenly spell,
Where grace and nature are unwound.

We're crafted in His sacred art,
A canvas of the Lord's own hand,
With every breath, a sacred part,
Of an everlasting God-given land.

The walls, though frail and soft they seem,
Conceal a fortress of the soul,
Where whispers of our deepest dreams,
And prayers ascend like incense whole.

Within You pulse the rivers of life,
The blood that speaks our very essence,
You're more than just the sum of strife -
A bulwark of Your endurance.

The heart, a mighty drum that beats,
With love and faith, a fiery force,
The lungs that breathe the sacred heat -
The body's vital, silent source.

Each limb, a testament of grace,
Extended in the dance of life,
Where joy and sorrow interlace,
As shadows of the mortal strife.

The eyes, like windows to the soul,
Wherein the universe is caught,
Reflecting on tales that are told,
The gleaming stars we have been taught.

The mouth, a vessel of the Word,
Where prayers and laughter intertwine,
Where silence speaks much more unheard,
Than tongues seek to say and define.

Your hands, with tender, loving touch,
Bestow a healing balm so true,
In every act of kindness, much,
Though little seems to be the clue.

The feet that tread this earthly ground,
Upon the sacred, solid crust,
Where faith is daily found,
Where we can live and place our trust.

In Your embrace, we live and move,
Where every pulse, a hymn we sing,
A symphony of love, we prove,
Our sacred temples – bells will ring.

Let not the fleeting world's allure,
Or doubt's dark whispers make us stray.
For we have been made more pure,
Than gold or marble's gleaming ray.

For you, oh fleshly shrines, are not,
Your own, but bought with love's own cost,
To serve, to live, to share His thoughts,
The price He paid to save the lost.

In every moment, be inspired,
By Him who lived and died for you,
Arise, be sanctified, be fired,
A living, breathing, heavenly hue.

Oh temples, rise to meet the dawn,
Where every day and night is new,
Let not the night's dark scorn,
Diminish what you're meant to do.