Brightlines is a personal writing project where I cultivate creative discipline and explore ideas that spark my curiosity. Each week, I share original writing, insights, and discoveries from the things that capture my attention. If you enjoy what you read, consider subscribing—I publish every Wednesday.
Josiah
You were a kid with no head for a crown,
but blood marked the seat where your dad was struck down.
You ordered the house of the Lord to restore,
and cleared out the filth that your fathers ignored.
You ruled with a strong hand, steady and raw,
then Hilkiah found your dead fathers’ law.
The people bore witness and swore the same vow,
But hearts made of stone wouldn’t bend then or now.
You crushed all their idols and set them aflame,
Their embers blew westward through Bethel in shame.
The pagan priests burned all their incense in town,
You dragged them through dust and you cut them all down.
You gave them the Passover, slaughtered the lamb,
commanded the people: serve God and not man.
The covenant bound them, but not to the bone,
They honored the scroll, but their minds stayed their own.
The reforms were outward and hollow and thin,
And wrath still hung heavy for national sin.
▫
You died in a war that you misunderstood;
your zeal for what’s right undermined what was good.
Your arrogance caught you an arrow for naught—
Waiting on word from the Lord you forgot.
You were killed in battle at age thirty-nine;
No virtue can cleanse what God's wrath will refine.
Do we do evil in eyes of our God,
nodding while jackals grow fat on their fraud?
Has he passed judgement on all of our sin?
Are we too far gone to begin back again?
Will anyone return us to covenant vows?
Maybe the scroll is unraveling now. ◾