Poetry

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Alas:
Thou has seen so many, an idle man
Suppressed by his own discord
Supposition casts but disillusion
The empty promise of a fleeting reward
Thou hath heard so many, a vacant cry
Languish upon deafened ear
For contrition waining conveys dispersion
Falling wayward, the heart endear


Fear not:
For thou hath not, of by choice
Thou has of by design
Within thyself, awaiting thee
Thy Gentle Lamb Divine
Thus cast aside, thy earthen tythe
Upon the vile shore
From His Hand, The Son of Man
Thy Living Waters pour
Washed away, the wicked day
Contemptable no more
By His command, Thy Gentle Lamb
Becomes The Lion's Roar


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