Cursed are those cisterns that leak
Staffs, unsupportive of feeble knees
For staring they cannot see,
Grasping, they cannot feel,
Opening their mouth, they cannot speak,
Their tongue aren't able to utter a sound,
With their lies they seduce,
Their words spell deceit,
They're full of false promises,
And destruction awaits at wherever they lead,
But the dragon shall be slayed -
Its head severed,
Its might prostrate -
For who can stand against Jesus' mighty name?
YOU ARE READING
Clay
PoetryA collection of poems flowing like a river from a heart made of clay, as it groans while being molded and when fired, screams in pain; yet rests in the knowledge that the Potter's handiwork will certainly be great.
