Fear not.
Ponder cold sparks;
Your mind thus black;
Sublime the spirit of time,
With a torch.
Melt to ice;
Made weak your smile;
Run plenty a mile,
Hand in hand.
No voice be seen -
Though stand does he;
Right by your side,
With a gun.
Silver erray;
Woven death to his hands;
He winks and jeers,
Let us play.
Resemblance to tears;
His rose will wilter;
Right with sorrow,
Crown of thorns.
Fear not says he,
And his shadow doth grow;
Or so it seems,
A cross, maybe?
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1320 times
Written on 2006-08-08 at 17:10
Tags Religious  Fear 
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