Open Poetry #22 |
It Was a Summer Morn |
VAS Member Rara Avis
since 2000-11-16
Posts 7450Oregon |
could it have been His slightest touch that stayed their journeys home? and what of them who followed Him in dust and clouds as foam? were all their journeys over, had they satisfied their deeds, is there a way to know for sure in sifting of the reeds? so many lives were crumbled and in death were bourne, snatched away in disarray, that fateful summer morn taken in the waning of sunshine and of light stolen in a moment when day became as night darkness all around in our hearts, in our souls, as hatred blocked the light from ever deepening woes yet, someone lit a candle, it shone around the world and on doorposts across the land, Old Glory hung unfurled united in their love and prayers, sisters, brothers all standing in a mighty way to honor God’s great call a year has come and gone, since the semblance of peace had been shattered by the enemy, his realm beneath our reach yet, vengeance is Mine, says our God, in heaven above and raining down upon us all, He sent eternal love His will is surely that which we see as sceptor in His hand we take up His promises to spread across the land candles lighted, banners flown, in faith our hearts receive the fabric of His wondrous love, and ardently believe ©September 10, 2002 Whether on the shoal or on the shore, |
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© Copyright 2002 Virginia Salter - All Rights Reserved | |||
WhiteRose Member Elite
since 2002-07-23
Posts 3208somebody's dungeon |
yet, vengeance is Mine, says our God, in heaven above and raining down upon us all, He sent eternal love His will is surely that which we see as sceptor in His hand we take up His promises to spread across the land candles lighted, banners flown, in faith our hearts receive the fabric of His wondrous love, and ardently believe Beautifully said. I enjoyed this! |
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the_loner_23 Member Ascendant
since 2002-06-08
Posts 5479Jacksonville, Florida, USA |
Beautifully written Cold hands means a warm heart |
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A. L. Becker Member
since 2002-09-06
Posts 167San Francisco, California |
dear VAS, what a fine and beautiful poem, i am so amazed by your work. Annika:- "Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?' |
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