Pilgrim's Doubt Poem by Chris Noir

'Will there be pity or mercy for my soul,
Will there be the rays ov gold at the pearly gates,
Or is there nothing, nothing after all,
That can save me from the hostility ov space.

Can hear Thee my cry, O merciful One,
Or art Thou simply Satan wearing a disguise,
Can you bless my suffering, Thou that gave your son,
Or will there never be a blissful paradise.

I need light, and I need food,
A simple fruit ov Thy blessed seed,
This foreign ground is barren Lord,
I beg Thy help in my hour ov need.

My hair grows gray, my children fall,
I have fallen sick and old,
Can Thee help me, I beg Thee Lord,
Can Thou hear my voice at all.'

Silence reigned that morning gray,
The ground still barren, dead and dry,
No one there to dig the graves,
Or place a cross at pilgrim's side.

They rot, and rot in the mid-day sun,
The prayer told into the wind,
They rot, and rot, and it is done,
Matter not their deeds or sins.

God gave not a single word
Or He wasn't there at all,
Just a void where this wretched world,
Sends it's hopeful, wretched souls