Poetry

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White light, burning bright
in the midst of the air.
What is granted is granted right
and far beyond compare.

See the prism with its angles
in the light's infinite sheen.
Colors flow free, they're not strangled
though the prism is so mean.

Agape love, our good Light,
in the midst of His heirs.
He has granted as He judged right,
like some holy dare.

It convicts, even pierces,
through our angled ways.
Its colors flow, they are Jesus.
We see that His love stays.

He has come, He is in us,
showing us His kingdom.
Praise the Lord, this good Jesus.
He's made us His prism.

Be so clear, even pure.
The light will be undaunted.
Be the agent of the Cure.
Show all they are wanted.

© 9-15-2010

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