Poetry

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Earths clouds the dust, from angels feet,
Who tread below Gods throne.
And stars no more than candle lights,
Through portals of Gods home.

The moon is decoration,
As is the milky way.
The sun is merely wasted light,
Outside of heavens gate.

The thunder is but God’s own voice,
The wind is just his breath,
The rains are tears from angels,
Who weep at Gods request.

The blue sky a reflection,
From pupils in Gods eye,
The oceans are just reservoirs,
Places where he’s cried.

He signs his name with lightning,
Delivered by an Angels hand,
A point known well in heaven,
But missed by mortal man.

The mountains are just resting spots,
For when he’s passing by.
Darkness is no more than times,
When God has closed his eyes.

The birds all know the voice of God,
When whispered in their ear,
Nature all with joy obeys,
It’s man who does not hear.

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