Poetry

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Your sin is written,
With an iron pen;
If you are bitten,
By the devil then.

God has it engraved,
With a diamond point;
Since you are enslaved,
Through sin to anoint.

The pad of your heart,
And on your altar;
You cannot depart,
But start to falter.

Even your child,
Will also recall;
When sin went wild,
Causing your downfall.

You can never hide,
Upon the high hills;
At large trees beside,
The follow your wills.

Up on the mountains,
In open country;
Neither with pagans,
To set yourself free.

But well-watered life,
From His good river;
Will handle the strife,
Calms as you shiver.

God will turn your wealth,
Treasures into loot,
Your spiritual health,
Be quenched through your root.

If you do worship,
And confess your sin;
Your relationship,
Will then grow within.

Copyright © 2015 Richard Newton Sherrer

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