Poetry

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In anticipation of my own demise,not yet realised,
cork poet dies,unknown,ungrown,some words they speak,and volumes seek,simple expressions in words
they speak,line by line they seem to say,read me again some other day,for i go to a land as yet unseen,no dream could ever display it's reality,
unless of course given a preview of,which could only come from GOD'S PURE LOVE,so until am called i will not know,the heavens above,here below,for
angels,saints they know it so,and bask in it's
majestic glow,time itself not fast,or slow,that's
something,that only GOD CAN SHOW,that's eternity
where's there's no emergency,where GOD,holds all
things by his own supernaturality,and if allowed in by my dying here,will be living thankfully way
up there,with FATHER,SON AND HOLY SPIRIT,OUR LADY
TOO,SHE IS QUEEN OF IT,GOD GIVETH.
Joe.

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