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Sheree Beasley Poem
I can see the potter's hand when looking at your face.
Each gentle feature not by man could such a thing create.
I watch in awe as you sleep, this cherub from my flesh.
A most precious gift he gave to me he knew 'fore she drew breath.
I know nothing but to stand rendered in my awe.
In this role that I have granted me by God.
I wonder eyes how did you see before you saw her face?
And heart I wonder how'd you beat 'fore the kiln yielded that day?
What the potter's hand had made.
Copyright © Sheree Beasley | Year Posted 2013
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Sheree Beasley Poem
Getting on
getting right with God
is for a heathen
easier said than done
Washing clean
this sinful machine
created in an image
but towing the line isn’t fun
Where can I get
this blessed truce
I know to well
how to pursue hell
but how in the hell
do I follow You?
Copyright © Sheree Beasley | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Sheree Beasley Poem
I remember You
that day
What You did upon that cross
Bore the burden
Bore the weight
What I’ve done was at Your cost
I remember You
and Your crown
each thorn ripping at Your flesh
The one You wear is different now
A crown of life
Instead of death
I remember you
at seventeen
Your wounded heart
bound by fear
In that pew
only I knew
The vow you made
no one could hear
I remember you
at thirty-three
The age I was when crucified
From a womb yet to be
It was worth it that I died
You were worth my having died
Copyright © Sheree Beasley | Year Posted 2013
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