Poetry

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The stones fell from their hands
They depart, her life still hers
A gentle voice comes from the Lamb
asking “Where are thine accusers?”

“Hath no man condemned thee?”
He asks, writing in the sand
She wonders warily from her knees
On the manner of the man

“Where are thine accusers?”
He has asked the same of me
Then my feared judgers and abusers
Fade from import, harmlessly

Though weak, my faith rests on him
Never trusting the worldly facade
Ignoring all of my fleshly whims
While seeking the kingdom of God

Though trials and accuser await
Gathering evil stones for my hurt
In my Lord I place my faith
Writing calmly in the dirt

“He without sin” he will say
And again my accusers flee
No true harm will come my way
For Lord Jesus walks with me

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