Little one reckoned as a laviathan.
seen as a demon a tainted man.
A ray of light forsooth.
a soft and sweet demeanor as proof.
Yet with the quill with the brush of communal opinion they paint him black..
Yet all substance of true evil doth he lack.
A saint of God on one hand.
Forsaken by his homeland.
An occasional mistake maker on the other.
Void of mentor or brother.
Yet in reality there be hope in the word, the father and spirit.
The potential for miracle groweth can you hear it.
And thy condemnation hath grown like tares among the wheat.
Yet He is still upon his mercy seat.
then the sun still illumines the lands of promise.
Poetry
Comments are closed.
Likes
1220 Views
Share:
Great poem! You really have a way with words!
It flows off the top of my head. You ever get those moments?
Like stars float in the heaven so their inspiration rolls across the midnight sky. a metaphor for my comment like it. a simple comparison just pulled it out of my hat so to speak.