When the storm clouds boil around me,
And the lightning splits the sky--.
When the howling wind assails me,
And life's sea is rolling high--
When my heart is filled with terror,
And my fears, I can't allay--
Then I find sweet peace and comfort,
When I simply stop and pray.
When the things of life confound me,
And my faith is ebbing low--
When my trusted friends betray me,
And my heart is aching so--
When the night seems black and endless,
And I long for light of day--
Then I find a silver dawning,
When I simply stop and pray.
There are things beyond the heavens
I can't begin to understand,
But I know that God is living,
And I know He holds my hand.
Yes, I know He watches o'er me
All the night and all the day--
And He's always there to hear me
When I simply stop and pray.
You gave Your life,
You took my place.
I should have died,
On Calvary's tree,
But You stepped in,
And died for me.
What can I say?
What can I do?
To show my love,
To You my Lord,
My Savior King,
For becoming my
Here is my heart,
Here is my soul,
Come Lord Jesus,
The old is gone,
You've made me new.
You died for me,
I'll live for you.
Dear Lord Jesus, this gift of love you give to me
More precious than the breath I breathe
Flows endless as the mighty seas
Bringing countless blessings in times of need
To know that you live inside of me
May I reflect your light on all I see
I feel you always in the rising sun
And I smile through tears when rain clouds come undone!
Amazed, I watch as lightning bolts zip 'cross darkened skies
And marvel as thunder rumbles through pillars of clouds
Be it day or night constantly by my side
I’m in awe of your love; forever my guide
You gave your life for me; set me free!
Though undeserving, you pour down your loving grace
Upon mankind irrespective of belief
And call to each, 'come taste and see what it means to be free'!
When my days are done and your light I return
May it be as brilliant as when you placed it in me
Let me not return empty keeping it to myself
I pray that I give freely to light another’s path
Well my friend, my conscience would not allow me the pleasure.
The pleasure not to report the news that I treasure. That as I
open the book, the book full of new's, a book full of true's.
All that I know, and them to be in doubt, one day they will all
shout, "He's coming back", "Before the nite is over". That's what
the Bible (the book) is all about. "Enter ye in at the straitgate: for
wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction.
Lord (now): "Show me the way Home", the poem is all about subduction.
"Before the night is Over, the attempt is to capture your mind". So may
you be aware, as he is lead, lead like a lamb to be slaughter. He is
beaten like as if they don't care, he look like news I cann't share but
the book (Bible) say's the reason he suffer for you and for me.
Because Love, Well yes my friend, [Love] is the reason to feel free!!..
My conscience want allow me the pleasure, that I too was less inform.
That, cause of my sin, I couldn't be reform, and many amonst many was
also in doubt. "Before the night is Over, hope all once blind, now see".
Before the nite is over, before the night is become dawn and just before
the dew hit's the ground.
"Give your life to what is living and not to a deadless Clover". Do this, feel
"Before the night is Over".
I wrote a letter to God and I had to ask why,
He allowed so much suffering and little people had to die?
One’s that had never caused trouble or done anybody harm,
Taken before they experienced life, plucked from their mothers arms.
He said answer me this, why did my son have to suffer and die?
Nailed to that cross I couldn’t even watch, all I could do was turn my head and cry!
What trouble did He cause, what harm did He do?
And all for what, He did it for you.
He said you couldn’t comprehend all the things that daily take place,
And all I ask is your trust till we meet face to face.
He said all things have a reason and someday you will know,
But you must trust in my word so your faith will blossom and grow.
I said Lord please forgive me if I sounded out of line,
It seems like all we ever do is complain, ask for mercy, or whine.
I know that you are busy so I guess I will close,
Thank You for listening and my love I enclose.
As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder
I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair
She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke
The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm
Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said
As she once again started to dissipate
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”
As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face
Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”
Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true
I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways
The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight
Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble
From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me
I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth
I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way
I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain
She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”
“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”
With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”
As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”
“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”
One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”
When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day.
The Luckiest Man
I have found that not everyone is as strong
As the skies are wide and the days are long
But in life I have found there is this one
Whose bounty makes me feel as warm as the sun
And from the moment that she first caught my eye
I knew I’d be with her til’ the day that I die
That I would love and cherish her all the day through
And do all those little things we men are supposed to do
And spend my days lost in utter bliss
That I had this beautiful woman to kiss
And there’s one true fact ‘bout her being my girl
That makes me the luckiest man in the world
Come oh come to harvest home ye thankful!
Raise thy tongue oh throng for thy barn…so bountiful,
All grains and grace safely gathered in with ease.
For thy plenteous portion, oh praise the prince of peace.
Come ye thankful who dwells in God’s own field!
Worship Him whose wealth and wisdom we wield;
In tears and sorrows…wheat and tares together sown,
But in harvest’s hour, in joy we reap wholesome wheat alone.
To thee oh God of harvest, we thankful will come,
With harps and hymns to thy holy harvest home;
Marching with thy holy angels in the street of gold,
Gladly bowing down to thee, thou shepherd of the fold
The night lingers, yawning,
Stretching its limbs across the sky;
It lies there so silently, so languidly
As if awaiting the early rays of morning
To come by- I wake-
I wake to the sounds of silence and
Like the night, I linger in my bed.
Nothing appears to me but darkness-
Darkness that twirls a million times
‘round my head.
Upon these cold, air-conditioned tiles
I find myself walking so slowly, almost
Crawling into the darkness.
I hear my head talking- talking so loudly
Even amidst all this silence.
How am I to know- how am I to know
Whether or not this whole night is but a dream?
A mere dream so trivial that it almost wakes me
And makes me part of its darkness.
From my window I see the night-
I see it lying there, painting all other
Windows with dark threads of sleep.
I even feel my eyes getting heavier,
Something endeavors to keep
Me awake through this night.
I continue to stare outside my window
Still listening to the haze of my thoughts.
How come all that is should be? And
Why are you, you and simply not me?
It seems that this darkness is not willing
To part away from me.
A voice- a voice recites its calmness through
This night and slowly approaches my
Window. I see it- I see it coming
My way, touching
My window, stroking the
My thoughts once again begin to bellow
How come all that is should be?
And why are you, you and simply not me?
I succumb to the voice, regardless-
And deem my thoughts forgone.
On my window it slides- the voice-
Almost so artistically drawn. I stand upright,
Facing away from the night which has now
I slowly kneel down, whispering prayers to
The cold-tiled ground
And finally it comes- Dawn.
Inspired by a Al Fajr Prayer which is the Arabic for Dawn.