Wanda Daugherty Poet Prose Poetry

Light In the Darkness

Light in the Darkness
      
        We poor deluded creatures 
             Know not what we are.
        We struggle our whole lives against the grain.
        The spark ignites, 
             But who will fan the flame?
       
         For who can know we breathe the breath of God?
         The Grand Designer 
              Gathered up the clay,
        To form us on the day we all began. 
       
          Glad Angels watched Him craft our fragile form. 
                Little understanding how much we'd cost. 
          He set us  in the garden on our feet, 
          God breathed, eternal and his own.
                
          Yet looked across the eons waiting there, 
          Life born from death upon a rugged cross.

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