Redeemer
It descends as if a shroud
On a black winter's eve.
I failed to sense it earlier
For it wasn't time to leave.
But now the years imply
The closing of the light.
Not just a day's demise
But never-ending light.
"`Tis a universal thing,"
I say, bracing to be brave.
But then I think again on
The specter of the grave.
My faith affirms the fact
My Redeemer is alive.
But faith is not nailed fast,
And doubts oft survive.
Yet cast in this mortal shell
To whom else is one to look?
The answer is millennia old
Scribed in God's own book.
Some say scripture is passe,
"Can't believe it any more."
But when it's time to leave,
They clasp faith at the door.
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