Sleeping In His Meadows
He sleeps in the meadows
on a pillow made of flowers
Arc-Angel voices are heard
from afar
A gentle wind
blows softly
at the nape of His neck.
Is he sleeping or dreaming ?
I don't know, but I feel Him on my skin.
He created the world
in seven days
His garment is made of sackcloth and camel hair
The scars in his hands
have healed beautifully
from the salve of His father's loving hands....
He sleeps in the meadows
like a warrior King of old
who has just saved the world from a great disaster.
Holding back floods, earthquakes, gunfires, wars
he leaves behind the scent of flowers
where there once was hunger,
people aren't hungry anymore.
He feeds me honey from the shackles of my
fraying soul,
as I fall asleep next to him,
soundly,
like a child, who could never ask for more.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment