Poetry

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The Death of Love

To weep in the lone morning hour,
As light first graces the darkened sky.
What for life in this cold mortal realm,
Pains felt and hardship stepped beyond.
For loss of that which none can replace,
A loss of love so simple and sweet.
Yet kneel to the darkened sky as we do,
In whispered words that in life we spurned.

We stand on the brink of eternal glory,
Yet behold not that which blesses above.
In toil we walk and drudgery in common,
Without hope of that long far off day.
For when we close our eyes in final rest,
Where shall the heart travel onward.
To burn in the passions of life we employed,
Or take part in a glory to all restored.

There on a tree was a name carved deep,
A showing of our earthly hope of love.
Yet on a tree long ago was the pain took away,
Of bitter darkness deeper than the night.
There we will stand in our own final hour,
Once more to behold the greater love.
One came in man's place to shed His life,
That in His love we might find grace.

Behold the man in his greatest desire,
He falls to despair and in darkness cowers,
Lifting his fist in one last call so bold,
Yet he pleads as his flames grow higher.
His shame he will see in the last moments,
Crying out in anguish fear and pain.
Reaching out in his eternal torment,
For what he condemned through his life.

Where then is love in that time of judgment,
When man has found the words true.
Does grace stand down in the final hour,
With anger does He turn in His wrath?
Where then does mercy stand out shining,
Lifting great words of hope outpouring?
Where then is love in man's last moment,
He weeps on His throne for the lost.

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