An arrow flies from Yehovah’s hand,
named Torah, straight and true—
to teach the heart its rightful stand,
to guide the way we’re meant to do.
Yet every shot falls short, astray,
chataʾ whispers through the air—
a miss born soft in ignorance’s sway,
or pride that climbs without a prayer.
The Temple stood with open gate,
priests bore the blood for every fault,
a shadow promise, temporary fate,
until the greater Lamb would halt
the cycle’s endless, weary round—
flesh fighting flesh in darkened strife.
But Spirit-rain falls to the ground,
latter waters breathing life.
No longer slaves to Egypt’s chain,
nor flesh that binds with iron cord,
we cease our striving, end the pain,
and rest within the living Word.
Shabbat drums its weekly beat,
a rehearsal soft, a hopeful sign—
exchange our weakness, small and fleet,
for wings of eagles, strength divine.
The Torah never cursed the soul;
it named the wound, it showed the scar.
The flesh rebelled, it lost control—
Messiah came to bear the mar.
Now walk the path He cleared and won,
no longer tossed by wind or wave,
the mark is hit, the war is done,
in resurrection’s dawn we’re saved.
Till fullness comes—exile reversed,
greater exodus complete—
we labor only to be immersed
in rest where every miss retreats.
Yehovah’s arrow finds its aim,
in Yeshua—goal and end and start.
From ignorance to endless flame,
one heart, one rest, one beating heart.
“Return to Me,” the Holy One calls,
not across oceans,
not across galaxies,
but across the distance
between knowing
and doing.
Shuv.
Not a sigh in the dark.
Not a tear on an altar rail.
But feet turning,
hands realigning,
a life bending back
toward the Voice that first spoke light.
We said,
“In what way shall we return?”
As though the path were hidden.
As though the target were gone.
As though the Archer
had never drawn the bow.
Torah—
not chains,
but aim.
Instruction like a steady wind
behind the arrow,
like a father’s hand
guiding the shoulder of a son.
Yet flesh trembled.
The mark stood bright and unmoving,
but our arms were weak.
The law was holy—
we were not.
The letter carved truth in stone,
but stone cannot beat.
It can witness.
It can testify.
It can condemn.
So the prophets whispered of a day
when stone would soften,
when commandments would breathe,
when the mark would not move—
but the archer would be changed.
Not a lesser aim.
Not a lowered standard.
But a stronger arm.
“What the Torah could not do,
weak through the flesh—”
Not because it failed,
but because we did.
And so the Word became flesh,
walked the path without missing,
felt the pull of every command,
and never once let the arrow stray.
He did not tear down the target.
He struck it.
Then He breathed.
And breath became Spirit,
and Spirit became fire within clay,
and clay began to move
not by fear,
not by boast,
but by love written deeper than ink.
Now the law is no longer only before us—
it is within us.
Not abolished—
engraved.
Return, then.
Not to shadows without light,
nor to freedom without form,
but to covenant alive in the heart.
For the Holy One still says,
“Return to Me.”
And this time,
the answer is not confusion.
It is a heart made new,
an arm made strong,
an arrow released
true.
My chosen sons, My elect arise,
Unveiled before the watching eyes.
Here and there their voices sound,
Truth of My Son through earth resounds.
For blood once shed now speaks as life,
Flowing through them beyond all strife.
Yet many hear but cannot receive,
They choke on truth they can’t believe.
They cannot taste, they cannot chew,
The living word I speak as true.
For what I give is meat, not milk,
Not watered down, not smooth as silk.
Their mouths are graves, their throats decay,
Darkness their light from day to day.
They feast on shadows, call it bread,
Yet all the while their souls are dead.
But My elect have heard My voice,
And in My mysteries rejoice.
Through fire they walk, through flames refined,
Where understanding fills the mind.
My fire was never meant to destroy,
But forge My sons with strength and joy.
Their feet like bronze in fire made strong,
Have walked the path where few belong.
Through burning trials their steps were sealed,
And deeper truths to them revealed.
Through them My work shall come to birth,
My purpose rise upon the earth.
But many still drink soured wine,
Curdled milk of a dying line.
Even babes would turn away
From what the many drink today.
Their season fades like passing breath,
A whisper racing toward its death.
In riddles I have spoken long,
And sent delusions for the strong.
You did not see, nor understand,
For fire had not shaped your stand.
You slandered My Anointed One,
Denied the truth of My own Son.
You called Him liar, cursed His name,
Yet never saw from where He came.
You wait for kings with blinded sight,
While He already walks in light.
For Yeshua stands within your day,
Just as He promised, He would stay.
My word to you is foreign speech,
A tongue beyond your grasp to reach.
But to My elect its meaning clear,
For hearts awakened truly hear.
The hardened heart cannot perceive
The life My faithful ones receive.
Did I not harden Pharaoh’s heart?
Did I not play the sovereign part?
Through plague and fire My will was shown,
That all the earth might know My throne.
The promised land I set in sight,
A people walking in My light.
But now the many stand the same,
Pharaoh’s pride within their frame.
Blinded eyes and hardened will,
Yet think they serve My purpose still.
But none can serve Me by their own,
For flesh alone cannot atone.
Only hearts made new and whole,
Circumcised within the soul—
My chosen ones, My priestly line,
My holy nation set apart as Mine.
For obedience became their bread,
And by My fire their steps are led.
They stepped from boats to waters deep,
Where faith must walk and never sleep.
Upon My word they stand secure,
A path unseen yet strong and sure.
Hear now the mystery I declare:
The blood of My word flows living there.
Not water only, but life divine,
The nature of Messiah intertwined.
Not by their faith this truth began,
But by My Son alive in man.
And resting deep within My will,
Obedience grew strong and still.
For only fire can shape the way
Where bronze-forged understanding stays.
Now hear the warning carried on—
Jezebel, your hour has come.
The fire of redemption nears,
If you have hearts and eyes and ears.
My sword has gone into the land,
My word fulfilled by My command.
Rivers will flow where truth has bled,
From teachings by My servants spread.
Until the flood of truth will rise
Even to the horses’ bridled ties.
For now the time of mercy ends—
My winking stops, My justice sends.
Yeshua will take the broken pieces of your life
He will mold them and shape them into a vessel of light
Only a humble and broken servant can be used
To pour out His spirit and make known the truth
The perfect example was the Messiah indeed
A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief
He was despised and forsaken of men
His appearance was marred and we did not esteem Him
He was crushed for our iniquities
For the sin of many He intercedes
Upon His broken body the iniquity of us all
The broken servant, for us He took the fall
All your life the enemy has been breaking you
But its nothing compared to what Yeshua went through
So if brokenness, sorrow ,and grief is you
Just understand…that brokenness is what God will use
*NOTE: These poems were created with the assistance of AI
