Poetry

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The Lord has blocked my path,
And so I cannot go on;
But I am spared His wrath,
Hoping for a new dawn.

My path has turned so dark,
He has stripped me of grace;
I see not to embark,
So I can see His face.

He has taken my crown,
Off the top of my head;
No smile but a frown,
With no food to be fed.

He beats me to the ground,
Uproots hope like a tree;
I hear an angry sound,
He is angry with me.

He thinks I am a foe,
His troops ready to attack;
Marching down as they flow,
No way can I turn back.

My brothers are afar,
They stay away from me;
Treating me like a scar,
As morbid as can be.

My friends are like strangers,
My relatives the same;
Knowing it endangers,
My reputable name.

I am a foreigner,
Right within my own land;
A dry docked mariner,
Standing on sinking sand.

My breath offends my wife,
And my children despise;
It is the end of my life,
With closing of my eyes.

C Copyright © 2015 Richard Newton Sherrer

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