Loss
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Loss
How can I express,
something that can not be written down,
unless you can grasp lightening,
harness thunder, shush a whisper…
or ask your self if you should?
Loved ones go to heaven.
A few of us, will go to hell.
The eye of the needle is small,
and things of worth are in question.
The value of life,
precious.
The value of forever,
The price of blood,
paid.
On behalf of the unworthy,
whose only chance…
is Grace.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2019
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