Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2016
Ice cold hands grip me tight as they lead me toward the light.
I'm terrified for what comes next, the fear of the unknown after death is what I feel best.
I'm getting closer and closer toward the bright clouds.
I see angels singing and tress blowing in the breeze.
Jesus himself is nowhere to be seen, but soon he'll show and guide me home.
He'll look at me with a kindly smile and say, "Hey. It's been awhile."
I'll grab his hand and hold it tight as we walk together, through the mist of forever.
Abigail Sandquist
Written by
Abigail Sandquist  23/F/Texas
(23/F/Texas)   
247
   Breeze-Mist
Please log in to view and add comments on poems