Tuesday, August 30, 2011
He created us in his image, making us his children’s
He bears our burdens, but not our sin
Though our feeling of joy and pain,
Hate and love; all come from him above
They are not ours, but his alone,
We are only an extension to what has gone
Filling his void of emptiness and loneliness,
For children that come of age, leave home,
Sometime leaving behind only old discarded photos;
And faded memories,
Completing the cycle of what was meant to be
For the secret things, belong to me, said he
We are nothing more and nothing less
Than the dirt we are created from.
Too serve, love and obey.
For he is a jealous God and we shall have no other
Nor our husband, wife or child whom we have seen,
Should come before me, so said he
He is the beginning and the end of all we know
For it is said that the eyes are the window to the soul,
That only he claims to know,
Therefore every emotion that is felt,
From joy and pain, to hate and love,
It comes from the heaven above first.
Where would he be without us?
Once again empty, lonely and alone,
For the secret things belong to him, said he.
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