Daily there are new hits

ancient antique armor armour

Photo by Maria Pop on Pexels.com

Daily there are new hits.

The death toll rising and no place to sit,

at the table of commerce there is hunger and doubt.

Some will be let in but so many left out.

 

So  a new reality is here.

In whom will I trust and whom will I fear?

Will people be kind and help stop the bleeding?

My country is dying and my soul is grieving.

 

Decency and kindness are being crucified!

No one tells the truth, the media is all lies!

My soul is crying in the long dark night!

Deliver us oh God with your Holy light!

 

Never let it be said of this patriot here,

that she ever gave up her country so dear!

Let her be remembered as a woman who prayed,

“In God we trust until the end of days!”

 

 

 

The Way…is waiting and calling…

 

building metal house architecture

Photo by PhotoMIX

It’s always been broken and now it’s on fire.

The world is so angry and so very tired,

But there has always been an answer.

There has always been The Way.

For all to be forgiven and start again today.

The Way might be a walk through the fire.

It might be a walk through The Door.

The Way stands there waiting and calling…

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”  John14:6,7.

Deep Purple Pain

 

purple abstract illustration

Photo by Anni Roenkae 

 

Weary days of  fear and foe

Deep purple pain just won’t let go

All through the day and into the night

Grief and anger fires burn bright.

 

My country weeps and cracks inside

Believers pray and mother’s cry

Dear God please hear us as we pray

We are sorry that we act this way.

 

Deep purple pain upon The Cross

No one else could pay the cost

Let us walk in your Salvation now

and humbly at your feet bow down.

Bloody Cotton Bolls

cotton flower

Photo by Magda Ehlers 

 

I saw fields of cotton white as snow

as  blood red drops flowed down and soaked

those cotton fields and the earth below.

Yes the Blood dripped down on the cotton bolls.

 

As the Louisiana sun beat down that day

in June of 64 three boys came to say

we want to help you learn to vote

but they were shot down and the cotton was soaked.

 

Blood of black men drip down so slow

from the cottonwood tree  the bodies swinging low

No one would help them, they were all alone

and the sun went down on the bloody cotton bolls.