Perfect Strangers
There is a battlefield green and fair
That’s where I am, standing there.
The smell of the earth fills my senses
I am not sure where the enemy advances.
I hear the thunderous roar of feet
It’s the sound of something and its league.
I am without sword or armor
Will I perish or shall I prevail?
Now is the time for things to happen
A dusty throat, that tastes like ashes
Pain in my heart that is not death
I stand frozen, a statue without breath.
That which is hidden is my chaos
What will take place is out of reach
It takes form and shows me Its’ ware
Its’ called the unknown, Its’ name is Fear.
How can this be when I am calm
But suddenly it comes and brings alarm
I try to be ready in all seasons,
But it fits like a glove,
Perfect Strangers.
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW
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"A dusty throat that tastes like ashes." This line is rich with feeling. I am there and I taste the dust. I enjoyed reading your poem -- thought provoking.
