Stinging Snow

This is the third (and maybe final) portion of an ongoing poem that I am writing. To see all of the poems, in their entirety, check out the key phrase ‘The Battle Wages On.’ This particular poem seems to have taken on a different aesthetic … dynamic and organic. Regardless, I give it to you.


The wicked,

In his pride,

Robs the poor.

His mouth is full of deceit, hollowness.

His ways are grievous.

Under his tongue is poison, vanity.

In the dark places he sits,

Lurking in the shadows,

Murdering the innocent.

His eyes are partial

To the weak.

Drawing her and her’s into his net.


In secret,

In the caves,

Waiting to catch the poor.

Lying in wait

He says in his heart,

“You are mine …

What can God do now?

He won’t see me.”

Arrogantly withdrawing,

Deeper into the secret places.

Ah ha ha …

Arise my Champion!

Show yourself faithful.

Forget not your child,

Walking through perilous valleys.

The song continues.

Evolving into a victorious song,

A carol of glory, you incline your ear to my voice.

Both the horse and rider are flung into the depths.

You are my strength and might,

My saving, joyous light.

Above the howling winds and stinging snow,

I stand, my arms outstretched.

I sing.

My God,


My Champion,

I will praise you.

My father’s father’s God.

I will extol your greatness.

Jehovah, my Champion,

My Defense and Rock

My chosen Warrior.

In Him I trust,

In Him,

I live.


Until later . . . Jonathan Watson

P.S. To see a little more about me, click here or about my overall blog, check this out. I love feedback (and work best with lots of it) so, please feel free to REPLY to anything I’ve written. Just scroll down to the “Leave a Reply” box and type away!  Thanks!


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