From Chisel To the Cross
How sweet were the smell of wood and sawdust.
How pleasant were the sounds of,
chisel and saw which are now foreigners to me.
I can now only hear the thud of nail going deep into the wood of my cross.
The wood that I once cherished ,
has become a snare to entangle me to my death.
Yet I'll cherish it more as it will break your shackles.
The pride I once took in making tables and chairs ,
I will take in being nailed to the cross.
The crown of thorns I'll hold dear to my heart as it is your redemption call.
And at last my journey from chisel to the cross will be just a pleasant stroll.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
