Poetry

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My ear received a whisper,
Something secretly brought;
Sounding like a whimper,
Of what I should have sought.

Amid thoughts from visions,
A deep sleep falls at night;
Dreams having collisions,
That is bringing insight.

Fear came as I dead,
Which made my bones to shake;
While trembling in bed,
Feeling like an earthquake.

A spirit passed by me,
My hair stood up on end;
Wondered what it could be,
And what it might intend.

It stood still without form,
Unformed before my eyes;
Felt neither cold nor warm,
But to be in disguise.

It was filled with silence,
But then I heard a voice;
Mortals causing violence,
As an immoral choice.

Can man ever be pure,
Before His Creator;
His illness have a cure,
As an expiator.

He will not put His trust,
Angels charged in err;
Man enjoying his lust,
With playing truth or dare.

Your house is made of clay,
Whose foundation is dust;
Allowing you to stray,
For pursuing your lust.

Forever they perish,
Without wisdom they die;
Everything you cherish,
And you do not know why.

Copyright © 2021 Richard Newton Sherrer

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