Poetry

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Which innocent person,
Died an untimely death;
Because their health worsen,
Prior to their last breath.

Find me a decent man,
Who has been defeated;
But still has a firm plan,
That must be completed.

Whenever I do see,
Those plowing wickedness;
A yield that is not free,
Harvest under duress.

With His breath God destroys,
A single blast of His wrath;
For His voice He deploys,
Malice upon their path.

Though roars of the lion,
With a ferocious growl;
Guards the gate of Zion,
From evil on the prowl.

Young lions lost their teeth,
As old ones ate their prey;
Nothing for to bequeath,
When seeing their last day.

The young cubs have scattered,
Secretly from their sight;
Abused and have been battered,
By evil in the night.

Disturbing thoughts at night,
Heard whispered in my ear;
To tremble in the light,
And to spiritually fear.

Something stood right in front,
An image I could see;
A soft voice that was blunt,
Asked a question to me.

"Are you righteous to God?
Can you ever be pure?
Can you honor and laud,
Not tempted by a lure?

Copyright © 2016 Richard Newton Sherrer

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