adam-m-snow
"To deny God is to deny creation, to deny creation is to deny your existence." –Adam M. Snow / / I am Shakespeare’s twenty second generation descendant on Shakespeare's mother’s sister’s side; from the blood lines of Margaret Arden and Sir Alexander Webb. / Website: http://amsnow.weebly.com
Year of Jubilee
Written by Adam M. Snow
My child, My child; lend Me your ear,
heed My word, put aside your fear,
your pride, your sword, your envious jeer
- hear My voice and revere.
See the world through grain of sand,
this world of yours is My Father's land.
Heed My word and make a stand
- rain of revival is at hand.
Your home will burn with Holy fire;
your kin will see My Father's desire.
Hundreds of voices will be lifted higher,
many will speak with tongues of fire.
The blind will gain a whole new sight,
they shall see God's Holy might.
Holy Spirit will in them shine bright,
their tongues shall too with fire ignite.
The lame will dance and dance so free,
to a Heavenly chorus of praises towards Me.
They will dance and dance so endlessly
- rejoicing, rejoicing with tears of glee.
The mute will speak with unheard voice
and sing aloud as they rejoice.
Praises will flow from their new found voice,
set ablaze as they rejoice.
The deaf will hear the angel choir,
their hearts will be set a fire.
They will hear My voice, My desire
and go forth to inspire.
My child, My child; lend Me your ear,
heed My word, put aside your fear,
your pride, your sword, your envious jeer
- hear My voice and revere.
There's more to come in the coming year,
but time is fading as I draw near.
Listen My child, so that our hearts cohere
- a great revival is drawing near.
The raging wars, the pointless bloodshed
all will cease, the lost will be led
to the altar with tears they'll shed,
- their hearts, free of dread.
The earth shall see His Majesty,
all captives will be set free.
All creation will fall to their knees,
this the year of Jubilee.
My child, My child; lend Me your ear,
heed My word, put aside your fear,
your pride, your sword, your envious jeer
- hear My voice and revere
- hear My voice, let our hearts cohere
- a great revival is drawing near.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
Weeping by the Willow Tree
Written by Adam M. Snow
Who is she adorned in moonlight's veil -
This beauty with skin so fragile and pale?
I see her within a dream surreal,
Weeping by the willow tree.
Why does she weep such a woe,
Under starry midnight glow?
Upon the ground, her tears will flow;
Weeping by the willow tree.
How can I clearly see?
She weeps so tenderly...
Will I come to know; can it be,
She weeps for me by the willow tree?
What can cause her broken heart,
That led this dame to hurt?
Her hair does fairly touch the dirt;
Weeping by the willow tree.
A love that's lost should only be,
Misinterpreted reality,
For she will never be set free,
Weeping by the willow tree.
A heart's amiss if love is lost -
An empty bliss would be the cost.
A troubled dream, she would exhaust –
Weeping by the willow tree.
Every which way the wind would blow,
The rustling leaves, the willow'd throw.
Akin to willows weep, we know!
She weeps by the willow tree.
Is she an angel kneeling there?
What is her burden that she bear?
Certainly there is such grief in the air,
Away by the olden willow tree.
She veils her face with waterfall tears,
Misery held her all these years.
With tender hopes and fears,
She weeps by the willow tree.
The willow tree leaves would sway,
As she, on her knees would pray.
Every night and every day,
She weeps by the willow tree.
Alas! It is that she cries for me;
It twas I who caused her such sweet misery.
I hear her cries, her plea,
Underneath the willow tree.
I oft wonder what I did to she,
And wonder why she weeps for me.
In the night I hear the keys -
While she weeps under the willow tree.
Upon the morn, it occurred to me,
That maiden cries out of love for me.
And I simply walked past her plea,
Not knowing what causes her to weep,
Silently under the willow tree.
The succeeding night I went to see,
That beautiful girl who sits under the tree.
I saw her there, but in despair -
She hangs from two branches bare.
Swinging under the willow tree.
http://amsnow.weebly.com
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
The Music in the Wind
Written by Adam M. Snow
O you sweet ol sound that grasp the wind,
you hold so tight to sway again -
through the branches springtide leaves,
such a tune these wind they weaves.
O that sweet ol song I heard before;
those magic notes, amusing score.
Like a moth's once soon cocoon,
your sweet ol song shall bring a new.
The songs that birds in morning sing,
those chapel bells whom we praise to ring.
Among the wind, they play so free -
O sweet ol sound, play again for me.
Let me hear o rustling branches,
a sound of an octave cord -
that of which o nature brings me,
the songs of which the tune - delights me.
The joy your tune in which it brings,
upon the wind - upon pigeons wings.
Songs of which entwined with man,
like that of many passing cars,
or the coming train to name of some;
a flowing rhythm - their own drum.
O this day your finest song,
I can hear it all day long.
To hear thee, o city music,
a concerto to befit,
- entwined with the sound of nature
- entwined with the earth for sure.
Your tune so great it can be seen,
through the branches, leaves of green.
Such an awe we shall not waste,
the joyance of sweet nature's fate.
http://amsnow.weebly.com
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
This poem is still a work in progress.... I need some thoughts... Is there anything I should reword or change?
A Visitor in the Morning Fog
Written by Adam M. Snow
Oh what a stage this morning break
Waking to a smoke-like sight
So thick it covers the dawn opaque
The freshly gold now blight
My heart is weak, I feel it ache
Upon this morning sight
Unlike the sun my heart don't hide
Nor in the fog it dwell
Even though and with my pride
This cruel heart I knew so well
Left me alone to stride
In this smokey hell
(more is coming soon)
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
Little Child
Written by Adam M. Snow
Little child, weary wanderer,
leaving home to go forth yonder.
Sat alone beneath oak tree,
to sleep away his misery.
A mile from his cottage home,
this little child left to roam,
in the woods so dark and damp;
this little child would make his camp.
While asleep, he heard asunder;
flash of lights -- arose of thunder.
Upon his face a dreadful frown,
pouring rain now crashing down.
He watched a tragic play unfold,
that left this child in the cold.
The tent he pitched -- swept away,
by the shifting mud and clay.
Now the child dripping wet,
sat alone the night and wept.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
I Wait for Thee
Written by Adam M. Snow
In stillness -- I wait for thee.
When time beat still -- I wait for thee.
When my troubles are great
and burdens my heart;
if my voice would leave me astray,
still this day -- I wait for thee.
When sickness strickens me,
bedridden and weak -- I wait for thee.
Through many quaint of restless nights -- I wait for thee.
When I'm old and wizened, and my memories flee,
still my Lord, I wait for thee.
In a crowd of many or by my lonesome self -- I wait for thee.
And in my travels through misery,
when the world has grown so dark;
in my days of ridicule, my faith on trial,
I, your bondservant will wait for thee.
And in my final hour with my final breath -- I wait for thee.
With every hour of my life, from now till then -- I wait for thee.
I wait for thee O Lord -- I wait for thee.
Even in my darkened days -- I wait for thee.
http://amsnow.weebly.com
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
This Lost Lamb
Written by Adam M. Snow
Oh by the morning strike of day
and by the calm obscure of night,
my heart is Yours O God - I pray;
grant this lost lamb Your holy sight.
Give this lost lamb the sight to see,
truth that lies in the love of Thee.
Show me the world in Your own eyes
and make O God, this dumb man wise.
Grant this lost lamb the words to speak,
the Word O God of Yours to man,
the Word of truth for which they seek
in ways a lamb once lost dare can.
Grant this lost lamb an ear to hear,
and hear Your voice so crystal clear.
Speak Ye - O God with words of love,
let this lamb hear Your voice above.
Grant this lost lamb the feet to lead,
so I may guide a crowd to Thee.
Help this lamb O God to succeed,
and help the ones encage be free.
Grant this lost lamb the hands to aid,
and help the fallen and afraid,
and help the lost ones to be found.
Help me guide them to solid ground.
Lead this lost lamb - O God, to Thee;
save this lamb from the sunless deep.
Open my eyes so I could see,
all of You and Your loving heap.
Let this lost lamb be born again,
to live for You - O God, Amen
http://amsnow.weebly.com
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Whispers in the Wind
Written by Adam M. Snow
Entrance me with your tune,
that gentle voice of yours.
Those sway ardent winds of harmony,
an echoed symphony of your life;
each word is wrapped in rhapsody,
flowing with the wind.
Your gentle voice, a breeze;
your whisper -- so angelically,
echoes throughout the world.
I hear it among the wind.
I hear it over the thunder of my beating heart.
I hear it calling to me.
We travel separate roads of life,
I got lost a time or two -- perhaps more.
Your voice helped me along the way;
your whispers in the wind,
echoes of sweet harmony,
it guided me back to you.
I want to hear it once more,
the melody of your voice.
Let it get lost among the wind;
(that sway ardent winds of harmony)
and have it find the heart within my ear.
Let your words etch itself upon my beating heart,
let them live forever upon my heart,
its beats won't fade the memory,
of what you've left in me.
Let them breath through my lungs.
Let me inhale your love;
it's sweet nectar to my soul,
an aroma sweet.
I hear it within a dream;
it brings me peace;
that caring voice of yours.
A stage whisper in the wind;
that soothing beat -- an interval,
an echoed symphony among the wind.
Those treacherous words of love,
"I do" and "love you"
forever in my mind,
forever in my heart.
Forever lingering on -- a song;
your whisper in the wind,
an echo -- a sweet echo.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
God's Heaven
Written by Adam M. Snow
A vision splendid of the Heavenly scene,
filled my mind with an image so clean:
the purity of the road from which I walk,
beyond the pearly gates so pure and white;
brighter than the sun's brightest light,
where the saints goes to flock.
Awestruck was I, with bright colors so new;
beyond everything of this earthly hue.
They glowed from the flowers in eternal bloom;
no death is seen, no weltering of a rose;
true beauty only God could compose -
with great fragrance, oh Heaven's perfume.
Oh the Heaven's perfumes, intoxicating scent;
so greatly with love, Heaven's intent.
Entwined with the sounds of the Heavenly choir;
great melodies with angelic boasts.
And out of the mouths of the highest Heavenly hosts,
singing with voices of fire.
Oh the tunes of Heavenly chorus great,
flowing with love and overflowing the gates.
The power's so great I fall to my knees,
I cannot help but join in to sing,
(O' great is Thy forever King -
great is Thy Maker of peace.)
And suddenly there, in crystal sunlight's glow,
stands all those dear ones we always loved so.
I see my father staring back at me;
my father whom I lost in mid bleak December.
Oh the treasures I will remember,
like the beauty of Heaven's seas.
As I see him, as young as I;
no tears in Heaven, still I wanted to cry.
Never thought I would see him once more.
My father, my friend is he -
a different man, cancer free;
still my father since the days of yore.
Such great gift that God has given me,
a vision of this soon coming beauty.
A land so great for a few yet so many;
the resting place at the end of my life,
to lay down in peace at the end of all my strife.
I wait for Thee, O' God, I wait for Thee.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
Little Bird
Written by Adam M. Snow
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
It drifts alone in the open air,
untouched by either
blue of the ocean
or the sky above.
Untouched by the bloodshed stains
of the earth below.
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
Like the tears
of unborn children,
dead before birth with
their question burning
forever, "Why?"
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
Perched on a tree,
watching man fall
before its eyes.
Is there no compassion
from that little bird
towards humanity?
Does the little bird not
feel sorrow?
Like the tears
of millions of hungry children,
cold without a home.
Their voice muted,
by the wars of greed;
their deaths in vain,
blood on our hands.
Does the little bird not
know sorrow, like we do?
Unable to fly
so freely like the bird,
lost in our own way
of life;
the endless greed,
the pointless bloodshed,
millions of lies.
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
Always flying so freely,
freedom on its wings.
Untouched by either
blue of the ocean
or the sky above.
Untouched by the bloodshed stains
of the earth below.
Does it feel sorrow?
That little bird,
who greets the morning
with a song,
always cheerful,
always chirping.
What does the little bird feel?
Is it sorrow?
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC