To lay in the feathers of His sleet and silver wings
No eternal death in the shadows, but spiritual repose
Within sound, melodical, white noise
Wrapped in a warmth as cool as linen sheets and satin robes.
There, safely and completely, weightlessly carried
No longer in the begetting of confusion, uncertainty - of betting on a toss of the dice,
but of a slow, methodical reasoning
The crossing of boundaries
across time and space in the relentless love of Christ.
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Author:
coracaodacripta (
Online) - Published: November 19th, 2024 22:14
- Comment from author about the poem: I would always lay on my father while he was watching TV. It was and still is the safest place to ever exist. On our last Valentine's Day together, I bought him a vintage robe. And ate all the chocolates.
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 23
Online)
Comments2
enjoyed the poem and the message..
Excellent write
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