A sword for Gideon

Beating grain on the threshing floor.
Eyes watching the open door.
Fear beats in my breast
Afraid to live like this,
Afraid to die like the rest.
Afraid of the armies which ravage the land.
Afraid of family and friends,
Afraid the voice I heard last night, maybe it wasn’t right.
Do I have the guts to break the idols of those in power?
Or will I cower,
In darkened corners of darkened caves.
A life that’s dead for all my days.
Will I stand, with sword in hand?
A soldier for God,
Against the vast armies of man?
Will I die?
Or become a slave under the devil’s hand?
Or will I stand?
Yet is this living?
Maybe I’m already dead,
And my body just hasn’t heard yet from my head.
I beat grain in darkened caves,
Watching my time pass away.
While others posses my land,
Wringing it dry with grasping hands.
Picking fruit from my own trees,
Eating honey made by my own bees.
Yet I’m still here shivering in the shadows of my uncertainty.
Wondering what is meant to be,
He said to have faith, to take a stand.
He’s words brought life to my inner-man.
Do I dare to try? Or let it die like all the others?
Do I follow a sign or follow my brothers?
Do I stand? In a land long lost to foreign devils?
Or accept that this is how things are meant to be?
Do I stand and draw my sword, or keep on living on bended knee?
I’ve called out so many times, to empty skies.
Hoping God above would here my plea.
Then when I saw a sign, I said “how can it be me?”
Maybe all the prayer and prostration, has made us a weak nation.
Because we spent so long waiting for an answer we forgot to how to act.
So busy asking “when” we missed the call to attack.
Are the flags waving? The musicians playing?
Is this the time? The task mine?
Is this the command?
“Stand up!”
“Get off your butt,”
“take back the land.”