The Grain of Sand That Changed The World
by Doug Benton

My Life began As a grain of sand In a place now called Tibet.
In the hardest rock Then at last unlocked By the wind and the freezing wet.
In a glacial grasp I was held steadfast With the ice as my only friend. 'Til that final flaw Caused the season's thaw To allow my trip to begin.
Through crack and seam The rushing stream Raced down through the ice and the snow. I was swept away Over stone and clay And into the valley below.
I continued to ride As the river grew wide Though the progress was slow as could be. Then finally one day To my utter dismay I arrived at the bed of the sea.
For eons and more, I'm not very sure, I sank slowly into the sand. Surrounded, I was, But lonely because I didn't see God's perfect plan.
But He had His way When an oyster one day Extended his foot to my spot. When the creature withdrew I came along, too In fact, I was all that he got. So then there am I Quite unable to try To find my true place in the world. Then divers come down And I'm suddenly found In the heart of a beautiful pearl.
From pocket to purse My wealth was disbursed As I traveled I bought many things. I bore the expense Of both pauper and prince And finally the ransom of kings.
The kings numbered three, And were destined to be Bound eastward to follow a star. To the place of the birth Of the Lord on this earth They were carrying gifts from afar.
Gold, to be sure, And that precious stuff myrrh And frankincense for God's Own Son; And a small leather purse With a mystical verse For the Pearl of Great Price I'd become. I remember that night And the glorious sight As the shepherds and kings praised The Son Both mother and child With the world reconciled By a Savior whose work had begun.
Then fear gripped the land As Herod's cruel hand Threatened all innocent ones. The need for the trip To escape to Egypt Meant selling me off for the funds. So Joseph and wife Began their new life By selling a Pearl of Great Price.
And I, simply sand, Played a part in God's Plan By saving the life of Our Christ.

For a decade or more Bamboo laid on the floor Of that jungle as it over grew. He was lost in his grief Slowly losing belief In freedom for such as Bamboo. Then finally a man Reached a calloused old hand Into all that concealed poor Bamboo. And he raised the stick high In the light from the sky And he said, "I have great purpose for you."
Bamboo harbored a dread Of the blood that was shed When last he was fashioned by men. He feared that his use Would inflict more abuse And he just couldn't face that again.
But a stick can't decree What his future will be Or just what will be his pursuit. But it seems that the man In Bamboo saw a plan To build a magnificent flute.
He carved and drilled holes Rolled Bamboo through hot coals And finally his project was through. The man fashioned a grip. Raised the shaft to his lip And breathed air through the length of Bamboo.
Bamboo did a strange thing... He just started to sing Of all of his life now gone by He sang of the place Where he first pressed his face Through the earth to reach for the sky.
He sang of his need To be saved, to be freed. And he sang all of death that he knew. He sang of the pain And the drizzling rain And he sang of his loneliness, too.
From a sprouting green shoot To the glorious flute He sang of how he'd come to be. Of the beauty around him And how fate had found him And how music at last set him free.
So when you are found In the dirt on the ground And your purpose in life is confused. When your misery and pain And the chill of life's rain Has you feeling alone and abused.
Just remember that you If you're straight, if you're true, Have a purpose beyond what you knew And remember the shoot Set in freedom's pursuit And the song that was sung by Bamboo.
 

Poems taken from the book,
"The Road to Veritas"

Bamboo
by Doug Benton
In a time gone by In a clearing up high Near a brook that rushed to the sea
An underground root Pushed up a green shoot Toward the sky in a quest to be free.
The jungle around Filled with wonderous sound Was a place that seemed friendly indeed, But the sprout peeking through Oh, so tender and new, Yearned desperately for liberty.
He grew toward the sky, As the days ambled by And he saddened the more that he grew, For try as he might Growing off to the right Or the left was not easy to do.
He lived with a knowing That while he was growing His mission unknown but still true The more that he'd try He just rose to the sky And became a thing known as Bamboo.
Bamboo became tall, In fact, tallest of all Of the shoots that grew in that place. But his need to be free Made him wait eagerly To be moved from his root laden base.
And then there came a man With a knife in his hand Marching straight into Bamboo's domain. Hope sprang to life, But then came the knife And Bamboo had his first taste of pain.
He suddenly found His full length on the ground And bundled as tight as could be In a carefully tied pack For the knife wielder's back Bamboo thought, "Is this what it's like to be free?"
It took more than a day To be carried away To a small village down by the sea. Where Bamboo and his brothers Were placed with some others All bundled and piled near a tree.
The monsoon soon came And the drizzling rain Seeped into Bamboo's woody core. Then the season for sun Finished what had begun And Bamboo became weathered for war.
Chosen because Bamboo was what he was, A shaft that had grown straight and true. He was cut to be short And I'm sad to report He was shaped to pierce flesh through and through.
He was placed in a pit With his fiercely carved tip Pointing straight toward the sky that he knew. It was such a mishap. He was part of a trap. "This is not being free", thought Bamboo.
With a lid, thin and frail, On a pit in a trail Bamboo could do nothing but wait. A young man at last Happened onto the path And fell through to his stake ridden fate.
Bamboo felt a soul Rising out of that hole As the heart he impaled slowly died. There was nothing to do But it seemed to Bamboo That the guilt he felt would not subside. 
(Cont)