Poetry

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...

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...