Poetry

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You never have something,
You are able to feel;
That a fire would bring,
Of a thriving new zeal.

From the darkness or gloom,
A trumpet to rejoice;
A dreadful storm of doom,
Makes you lift up your voice.

Hear the sound of a voice,
Of someone from the past;
Saying not to rejoice,
For what is to forecast.

For the things you have heard,
Defying the commands;
Are written in the Word,
The respect it demands.

You rather go astray,
Than to heed what it tells;
While you disobey,
Snubbing the warning bells.

Where will you be going,
Breathing your last breath;
How well are you knowing,
About life after death.

Is it to the city,
Of our living God;
Will the Lord take pity,
With each place you are flawed.

Like a nomad to roam,
Unto the gates to look;
And call Heaven your home,
If your name is in the book.

It is as though too late,
Your name does not appear;
And you have sealed your fate,
As judged by your worst fear.

Be careful what you do,
Do not refuse to hear;
For God tells what is true,
So respect and revere.

C Copyright © 2016 Richard Newton Sherrer

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