Mornings fall
Darkness rise
Man ne’er looking to the skies
Pleading not
Suff’ring so
Wallowing in tort’rous woe
Blinded to
Their own doubt
Gnawing, chewing, hollows out
Precious souls
They don’t care
Where to go? Now what to wear?
Worthless cares
Don’t they see?
Devil’s snares of “me, me, me”
Much success
Though contrite
Robbed so eas’ly of their sight
Cry to God!
Oh, little man
Only He saves, with His plan
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
Mornings fall
Darkness rise
Man ne’er looking to the skies
Pleading not
Suff’ring so
Wallowing in tort’rous woe
Blinded to
Their own doubt
Gnawing, chewing, hollows out
Precious souls
They don’t care
Where to go? Now what to wear?
Worthless cares
Don’t they see?
Devil’s snares of “me, me, me”
Much success
Though contrite
Robbed so eas’ly of their sight
Cry to God!
Oh, little man
Only He saves, with His plan
"Dark Days" was carefully metered out and planned. It's the only poem in which I've gotten this involved in the technical process. It was actually fun, but provided no emotional outlet.
This poem was written sometime shortly before March 8, 2011.
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