Author: Peter

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New Dawn The Son rose on that first day, A great doorway opened wide. Events played out, from Friday to Sunday, Now an emptiness deep inside.   All is lost, how can I explain, To whom shall we go, where can we turn. Discarded grave cloths now remain, What is there here for me...

The Way The path is narrow and the journey long, Faith in God unswerving, Faith in His creation (my neighbour), A command to love and serving. This is not my path, Not of my devising, This cannot be my path, For more than me comprising. Here there and further on, There are so many more, Others...

Not the Nails   Not the nails that held him to the cross, Nor the soldiers or the large crowd. He endured the pain and bore the loss. His body scarred and precious head bowed, Not the nails that held him to the wood, This king of kings and servant of all. A...