Poetry

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Written 11-8-04

The road is quiet,
With tragedy seeming so distant;
The world looks at itself,
Seeing no need to repent.
They feel they are so at peace,
Their heart tells them “secure”;
If things are so seemingly good,
Then they must be pure.

“We will have our own way,
Our destiny remains set;
We will then take the risk,
Playing our spiritual roulette!
How dare this Christ, to presume upon us
And show us a way;
He’ll not see me on my knees,
I will never pray.”

The Lord, one day, will soon laugh,
And hold them in derision;
For they refused, for their own good,
The Father’s sole Provision.

The road one day, will not be quiet,
His storm on the horizon;
His patience makes way, for holy judgment;
For the King of Mount Zion.
Then what will be the world’s state,
With their of rule of ease?
They will still blaspheme God,
And His Prince of Peace.

But the Lord knows His own,
Even b’fore their submission;
Those He now owns have their work,
These souls are their mission.

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