The future, a deep dark cloud
Rain, storm or clear away it may.
Clear to no one is the faith at hand
Or the ingredients of a certainty.
God knows best, we alter
And we lay at his altar
We cry, may his will be done.
But in our hands, resides the choice.
Now choice, a simple word
Troubling the calm waters.
A strike at a wrong spot
And all goes down.
But right from wrong, even us know
In us it abide, our conscience it is called
Let it cause us to shiver in dread
When we go in the wrong.
More by this Author
I called you several times I called My clamour getting louder Every time I alter a cry And you came at last A bundle of joy I must say My eyes struggle to believe Only a strip told of your...
This is a narrative poem for someone special who is far away. A tribute to all heros in a long distance relationship.
Early in the 19th century, women are described to be religious, pure, and submissive. During that time, the society places a woman on a certain pedestal and is obliged to remain pure and chaste; a woman’s...