The Holy Door Poem by alan brown

The Holy Door



The sorrow of death is upon us
as I wright these willful words
The tears have long dried up
as the memories were heard

The loss is almost evil
as it hurts my crying sole
Never to see the wisdom
that she had once foretold

Alone again in this our time
was never meant to be
It was supposed to be full of happiness
and joyful and wistful glee.

So I sing these words of sorrow
as I sit here with my pen
Never to reach the high again
That I was reaching then.

The life we had was wondrous
and is a time I will never forget
So sing with me these words so sad
And let my mind have rest

We will be together again
of this I am quite sure
To hold hands until eternity
outside the holy door.

Thursday, May 24, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: religion
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Thank You 24 May 2018

You have shown us the holy door. Shakespeaream and monumental. Grab a big 10. Bernard

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