Treasure Island

Bill Cantrell

A Poem for My Creater

A poem for my Creator,
just where do I begin?
Let paper be my path in life,
my feet, they be the pen.
Imperfection staggers,
with footprints dressed in sin.
Each time that I have fallen,
You have raised me up again.
At times I have walked backwards,
yet, in your heart all love abounds.
In the middle of my weeping,
You grant me higher ground.
If I could only catch a glimpse
of the hope behind your eyes.
With focus placed on trash as me,
that even I should gain life’s prize.
If my poem unfinished be
while in this earth I rest,
I pray my words will rhyme in that
I’ve given you my best.

Submitted: Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Edited: Sunday, January 12, 2014
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A Poem for My Creater by Bill Cantrell )

Enter the verification code :

  • Ed Nigma (1/11/2014 9:57:00 PM)

    When you have given your best you have earned your place in history. Nice work =) (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe Updates

New Poems

  1. Crescent Moon, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  2. Streetcorner Church, Sharan Strange
  3. Daaaaad! ! ! !, Damian Murphy
  4. Childhood, Sharan Strange
  5. Hunger, Sharan Strange
  6. Sensitivity, Khairul Ahsan
  7. Your shadow!, fareeha ghafoor
  8. Getting Closer, Brandon J. Moore
  9. The Passing Of Days, Lilly Emery
  10. In/and, William Stobb

Poem of the Day

poet Sara Teasdale

Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.

...... Read complete »

[Hata Bildir]