Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.148.192.125

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Ever since the “Bright morning star”
dared with his creator to spar
craving the seat on mount’s north side
his mind molded the idol, pride.

The seed of pride, a torrent spawned
in creatures formed at earth’s first dawn.
Desiring to be like God,
they fell from grace and became flawed.

Mankind’s mind like a workshop weaves,
the idols to which his soul cleaves.
He never seems to have enough
So, he makes a god of his stuff.

With an axe man cuts down a tree
And builds a house upon a lea.
Then from the wood, he makes a cup 
to use when it is time to sup.

He carves a god, shaped like an elf
and places it upon a shelf
then lights a fire, prepares a meal
and worships it as if it’s real.

Conceived in curious, corrupt minds
these idols everywhere we find
Be it lust for sex, wealth, or fame
their paltry pay is all the same.

Of idols made, there is no end.
When God to us is dead, we spend
life’s precious pearls as passions sway
controlled by gods, like pawns in play.

We were fashioned to worship God
and by His presence to be awed.
When we do not give Him his place
idols of vanity we’ll chase.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required