| As a big, big
note here, this poetry was written when I was 13 (7th grade). Try not
to laugh too hard. I was a bit silly.
The Path of Friends
Down the path of friends we walk,
Smiling and laughing as we talk
A bond is between us heart to heart
Friends are forever never to part.
As we walk down the path we can not fuss
For the love of friends will always be between us
No matter how far apart we are as we walk around the bend
We are held together by the song of friends.
Though far apart we might be
We'll always have the firendship of you and me.
The love of God together we hold
Never in that can we be too bold.
Friends are forever to the end
'Though only God knows what's around the bend.
To Hurting People
(Oh wow, can I die now? I'm reading some of my word choices and laughing
my butt off. This is all original spelling, punctuation, and um...
glorious rhyme.)
Jesus: Why do you sit in a darkened corner,
hoping no one will see
the tears running down your face
but still not hidden from me.
Why can't you share your burdens,
your worry and your strife?
Remember I've been through it all,
I've missed you so much since man's fall.
Just one call and I'll be there,
oh yes, I hear your prayer--
a fervent whisper into the night,
a desprate cry of child like fright,
the smallest whisper of a once great might,
and a broken song once full of light.
The Chistian: Now in your world of shattered dreams
of pointless hopes and overdone extremes,
of suffering and torment and dried-up streams
Nothing truly matters now, it seems.
There is one person in this desolate world
of pureness, and goodness and light,
of love, and of caring, and enormous might,
with and understanding of your wounded life,
and true knowing of the most painful strife.
His love is so great and strong;
it goes on forever like an endless song.
He's waiting for you! Oh can't you see?
For such a simple prayer,
how great the change will be.
All of his love for you and me,
He met his death on Calvary's tree.
Now that I've told you of his sacrifice in part,
How can you refuse him in your heart.
and yet,
Still you sit in a darkened corner,
hoping no one will see
that the tears are still running down your face
but now they are hiding from the shadow of the tree,
And the savior waits, so patiently,
and gently calls, "Come to me."
(::dies::)
Winter
The coldness, the chill, the white
All on a cool winter's night.
The sky, the stars, the black and bright.
The moom casts steady beams of light.
A mouse scurries through the brush,
lightly distrubing the midnight hush,
but silence again settles in
waiting for spring to begin.
(I seem to recall this being for a school project of some kind.)
poetry |