etasticforthelord

The Prophet Speaks

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I drove into my kidneys,
The arrows of my quiver;
That drove me down on my knees,
On the banks of the river.

I became the laughingstock,
The object of taunts all day;
Derision from all their baulk,
From the Lord they turn away.

I am filled with bitterness,
Having been drunk on wormwood;
The drink tasting a sourness,
Dizziness felt where I stood.

My teeth were grinding gravel,
Made me cower in ashes;
My mind tried to unravel,
That the Antifa trashes.

My soul is bereft of peace,
Forgotten of happiness;
That sorrow will never cease,
I am drowning in sadness.

My endurance has perished,
So has my hope in the Lord;
Everything I cherished,
Appears that God has ignored.

Remember my affliction,
That causes my wandering;
Wormwood is an addiction,
No more am I pondering.

My soul will still remember,
As it bows down within me;
Having a humbled tremor,
Feeling blind and could not see.

But this I recall to mind,
Therefore I am having hope;
So I search that I may find,
How many ways I can cope.

The steadfast love of the Lord,
Mercies not come to an end;
He will be loved and adored,
Not just a God but a friend.

Copyright © 2020 Richard Newton Sherrer

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