Poet Evangel
It's a mirror
It's a ladder
It's a weapon for Mansoul
It's a bombast
From the Christ past
Crying now to be made whole.
It's a comfort
For the wounded
And a hospice for their hurt
It's a warning
To the haughty
That their Father came from dirt.
It's another
Look at Calvary
And another, yet again
It's a resume
On Jesus
Working still today for men.
It's a fairground
For the senses
But it must not leave the trail
Of the journey
Ever upward
By the folk who pass Death's Vale.
It's an invite
To the wayward
And a shelter for their night
It's adoption
To a family
Resting washed and safe and right.
It's an offering
From the heart's purse
With but two small mites in hand.
It's a blessing
To the writers
That they hardly understand.
Copyright © Doug Blair | Year Posted 2017
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