The encounter

To think that my flesh and blood is already in heaven,
What a thought,
That to my being eludes,
No other explanation renders me more satisfying,
Than that of my humanity.
It is graced, blessed, honored, and digified,
By him whose death on the cross did not see the face of curruption.
To prove an empty grave,
But what physical proof is this?
Compared to the jewel of that faith,
That beyond any shatttered doubt,
Keeps me running the race.
All because of the Saviour,
Whose ascenion into eternity,
Did not leave behind a speck of that physique,
So as I trod through lifes endless wanders,
That all too soon descend in the bowels of this classic,
My eyes are fixed to that Which I believe.
As I walk to the finish line,
To await this crowning,
Which has become that of mine.


.”..a ship called friend….a friend-ship”

Sail Boat
Image via Wikipedia

The open sea,
This ship does sail,
Where masses spring this cup of tea,
And all whose flesh from their bones does wail,
Find rest in this bill of only a sail.

With hands on deck,
And eyes to the rescue,
Its heart awaits this impending wreck,
And all who basque in its waiting queue,
Is saved by the gushing waters to the neck.

Where cabins are laid,
With beds that never fade,
Its stern shall not depart this final blow,
And all whose shoot is like the arrow,
Shall find the peace that beckons this row.

Its port of call,
Though opened to all,
Is never secured in this surrounding wall,
And all who sees its mast so tall,
Knows to be heard from the depth of the call.

In its countless log,
It denies this fog,
That seems to hinder a yearning mate,
And all its anchor does hold,
Finds comfort in this assuring date,
For they like you have found the gold.