Poetry

---

You pierced with his own arrows,
Of the heads if his warriors;
Who came like the whirlwind flows,
Systematic harriers.

They rejoiced as to devour,
The destitute in secret;
Tasting so sweet not sour,
Showing of little regret.

You trampled the sea with ease,
Waves surged of mighty waters;
Actions that had seemed to please,
All the sons and daughters.

I hear as my belly shakes,
And feeling my lips quiver;
Rumbling like the earthquakes,
The north winds makes me shiver.

The rottenness in my bones,
As my legs tremble beneath;
From my belly I hear moans,
And hearing gnashing of teeth.

Yet, I will still quietly wait,
For the day that the trouble;
Will be coming through the gate,
Invade and making rubble.

Though the fig tree not blossom,
Nor the fruit be on the vines;
It tastes sweet to the bottom,
Once harvested for the wines.

But the crop of olives fail,
And of no food from the field;
The bread I eat tasting stale,
Having no grain, I can yield.

Yet I rejoice in the Lord,
Taking joy in salvation;
For being in one accord,
Building on my foundation.

God our Lord is my strength,
He makes my feet like a dear;
Leaping with such a great length,
His high place I shall revere.

Copyright © 2019 Richard Newton Sherrer

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE AS A MEMBER OR VISITOR