Poetry

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All of my closest friends,
Are disgusted with me;
Because my faith offends,
In the way that they see.

My loved ones turn away,
As I am skin and bones;
But I will never stray,
Which the Lord will condone.

Have pity on my, Lord,
Strike me not with Your hand;
Why am I just ignored,
Just tell me Your command.

Why do You still pursue,
You seem not satisfied;
Do You have an issue,
How my life is applied.

I wish I had written,
And inscribed in the scroll;
How I had been bitten,
That made me lose control.

I wish they were engraved,
With iron on a rock;
Caused me to be enslaved,
On how I think and talk.

But my defender lives,
And will rise on the earth;
For He always forgives,
Since He knows my true worth.

After my body has stripped,
Of all the bones and skin;
The Lord will then have slipped,
A new shell to be in.

To see Him with my eyes,
After my heart has failed;
I will see just how wise,
And His image entailed.

You may say persecute,
Because you hold a grudge;
But your ill is the root,
In the end He will judge.

Copyright © 2017 Richard Newton Sherrer

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