I Am Scared, Our Lord, Had Not, Cared. Poem by Michael Gale

He walked a mile for a cry...
Would he care, if I die?

He walked a mile, for the thought...
Where, were He, when I sought?

He was nowhere, the eye, could see...
How would he, remember, thee?

The times of man, gained, by trust...
Were, I here, in December, no dust-no dust.

From the grave, and into the aimless, spirit....
We are, now gone, and lesser, near it.

Heaven, beside our Lord....
No one else, may fret, and ill, afford.

To lose faith, in the One, of Might...
Must we try, to hide fro', His, Holy, light.

In the end, as like, a dream...
We'll awaken, in a shriek, of a scream.

As we lay, in silenced, monumental, test...
We'll come to know, That He was, the best.

Alas, alas, our mortal, fear....
That He, is the one, to our heart, is dear.