While looking for a kingdom, not made with human hands,
I passed on by a statue, out on the shifting sands,
Of a man who claimed to be, the outright "King of kings",
Yet could not stop dust and dirt, encroaching on his lands.
I thought of they who worshipped him, what then became of they?
And if it were put to them, O what now would they say?
For with silver tongue he spoke, and see what deeds it brings!
Look and now be witness, for all 'round is decay.
O what great oaths we make, looking for a kingdom,
With feet firmly planted, in our mighty wisdom.
If what we make is good, our high opinion rings,
O're not but arid ground, far from the stream of kings.
Those who find their kindgom, don't build statues of gold-
In their own sweet image, or so it is I'm told.
It is granted to them, as clear water from springs,
To drink and drink in full, 'til they're healed from this world.
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The Quiet Strangers
PoetrySometimes I think poems are like quiet strangers in the corner of the room waiting to be known. Only when time is taken to approach them is their richness revealed. Here you will find poems on nature, loss, hope, and the soul. Simple topics some mig...
