Fall Poem

"Come, little leaves!" said the wind one day;
"Come to the meadows with me and play.
Put on your dresses of red and gold;
For summer is past and the days grow cold.

By George Cooper

Centurion's Story

I am standing on a hill-
Golgotha, place of the skull.
My gleaming sword is at my side,
My armor shines in fading sunlight.

Before me lie three crosses,
Upon which are two thieves,
And a man that some would call
The King of the Jews.

I stride towards the man on the cross-
Towards the traitor; a man a blasphemes.

In my hand a hammer-
My heart beats rapidly, warningly,
But still, I lift the hammer.

A soldier kneels before me,
Holding a nail, awaiting my blow.
The hammer glows dark against the sun,
My arm is strong, my heart is fury.

I bring down the hammer with powerful force.
A cry of agony, but falls deaf on my ears.
Blow after blow I rain down on the nail,
Now pierced deep in the hand of a man,
And through to the wooden cross.

I pause for a moment,
My soldier grasps the second nail.
My hammer rises, falls yet again.
Once more my hammer drops.

But my blue eyes are watery now.
I look down slowly,
Into the face of the one on the cross.
His eyes pierce mine, burning, searing...

With love? Compassion?
Can it really be?
His eyes gaze right through me-
Straight to my very soul.

His gaze is kingly, His eyes are noble;
So full of love for me-
For me! Oh, wretched man I am!
My grasp falters,

The hammer flees my hand.
Remorse floods.

Then angry eyes aproach me,
A stinging blow upon my face,
Another soldier takes my place,
The deed is done, the cross is raised.
I look a last time,
Upon my Savior's face.

Incomparable love, unfaltering mercy,
His eyes speak of grace.

"I killed You... I killed you,
And You love me?"
I whisper, tears filling my eyes

A voice of peace comes,
"My son, you are forgiven."

To forgive your murderer!
Could only be a perfect heart
That loved one such as I.

But, alas! The deed is done.
"It is finished!" Is His cry.

Stumbling forward, blinded by tears,
I lay my guilty hands
Upon the rough surface of the cross.

"Truly," I whisper, through grief unbearable,
"Truly, this was the Son of God."

By Michaela Burks

Thank you for sharing Cydney. That is a beautiful poem, I can't believe you wrote it Mika! Heart-wrenching, beautifully done.

Wind is Anywhere

The wind it moves in wondrous ways
Through the tree branches it blows and it sways
It takes all the leaves and flies them so highThen briefly it lets go and they fall from the sky

By Dee Mcdonald

Since summer is ending and fall (my favorite season) is starting, I found this poem about fall.

Transportation

Books take you places

Where you've never been:

The lush mountain,

The deep valley,

The small cottage,

The mansion grand,

 

They introduce you to people

You've never met:

The Irish lass,

The African slave,

The man from the future,

The child from the past,

 

And music brings you

Back to those places,

Those happenings,

Those people:

Their feelings,

 

 

And their dreams.

By Rebekah Crawford

Wow! Rebekah! I LOVE this poem! Great job! And thank you so much for sharing! :)

Dream Big: A Living Faith

I’ve dreamed many dreams that never came true.

I’ve seen them vanish at dawn;

But I’ve realized enough of my dreams, thank God,

To make me want to dream on…

I’ve prayed many prayers when no answer came,

Though I waited patient and long;

But answers have come to enough of my prayers

To make me keep praying on.

I’ve trusted many a friend that failed,

And left me to weep alone;

But I’ve found enough of my friend true blue,

To make me keep trusting on.

I’ve sown many seed that fell by the way

For the birds to feed upon,

But I’ve held enough golden sheaves in my hands

To make me keep sowing on.

I’ve drained the cup of disappointment and pain,

And gone many days without song;

But I’ve sipped enough nectar from the roses of life

To make me want to live on.


By Anonymous


Thank you Cydney for this beautiful poem. What a great reminder!

A Mother's Day Poem

Dirty faces and sticky hands!

Loads of laundry… many demands!

Work, work, work, and more to do still!

Obediently listening to God’s will.



Graciously Mom maintained her poise,

In spite of the mess and the noise.

Mom overlooked the frequent spills.

She looked beyond the task of meals.



She lovingly forgave my numerous faults,

And managed to think on happy thoughts.

Now I’m grown and see the price Mom paid,

For all the memories of love she made.




How I long to model her smile,

To always go the second mile!

She surely was fit to be a Queen,

But chose instead to serve unseen..


By Kelly Bates

Thank you Michaela for this wonderful poem. So sorry, I didn't see it until now. I REALLY wish I could have posted it for Mother's Day.

Today is a Gift

Yesterday is history,
Tomorrow is a mystery,
Today is a gift;
That's why it's called the present.

By Anonymous