Poetry

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Just how can it ever be,
Merely judging what we see;
Like the cover of a book,
Only judging how we look.

Blind eyes to what is inside,
Never knowing what may hide;
A gentle lamb to your eyes,
Might be a wolf in disguise.

So you can never be sure,
What is behind a closed door;
Or may lurk deep in the mind,
That causes us to be blind.

For beauty is just skin deep,
And can not see through to reap;
From a person what is true,
Of things that they will construe.

Only the Lord can impart,
What's conceived within the heart;
For the eyes lights up the soul,
That brightens your inner goal.

Richard Newton Sherrer

Copyright 2008 Richard Newton Sherrer

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