Johnny Bruce Grinols
He - Poem by Johnny Bruce Grinols
A man stood before me, after I fell into a slumbered sleep,
His garments and hair, were white as a sheep.
As I looked around, to see what I could see;
People before Him; Hundreds and thousands; On their knees.
It was neither cold nor hot, in this unusual place;
This man; He stood in the air; Is this, "His Grace?"
I felt no fear, as if my soul were free, He is, who he is;
But, He, is not me!
As a man, I had not repented, nor prepared for this;
Yet, there was sorrow and hurt, in my heart, Not bliss.
If this were not a dream; Is there such a place, that exists?
As a man who has sinned; What is the meaning of all this?
Off to His right, appeared to be a throne and a brilliant glow;
What is all of this radiance? I do not know!
His right arm reached out, pointing face to face; Streaks of white
lightening, from his finger-tips, would race. I was observing all things;
Standing above, to His left; All of a sudden, something struck me, upon my heart and chest From where it came or what it was, I cannot say.
I awoke! Was this a dream, I had this day? Who is He? Should I pray?
His face! I shall remember, until my dying day.
Comments about He by Johnny Bruce Grinols
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Johnny Bruce Grinols's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You