Geneva Aileen Smith
The Temple Of My Heart - Poem by Geneva Aileen Smith
I vacuumed the temple of my heart; I cleaned it everywhere.
I dusted every corner, I made it sweet and fair.
I brushed down all the cobwebs, I polished every glass.
I painted all the woodwork, so all was clean at last.
Then I opened up the door and asked the Master in,
I said "Please, enter now for I have cleaned up all my sin."
He stood and looked at me, then crossed my shampooed floor;
All at once I saw a thousand stains I had not seen before.
He stood and looked all around, then with sadness on His face
He looked again at me and said, "Friend, this is not a fit place,
Those pictures on your wall,
I surely do not like, together let us change them all."
So I took down all my pictures; I cried so many tears
For they represented memories I had cherished almost eighty years.
There were scenes of pleasures, popularity, recognition and pride,
I took them from the wall and threw them all outside.
Then the Master Artist painted a picture of golden grain:
He placed a note beneath it, the message plain and true,
The harvest is so plenteous, the labors they are so few.
He found my secret closet where I often knelt in prayer;
He placed the Glory of the Crucifiction there.
Above where my books lay He hung the beautiful picture of God's Resurrection Day.
In that secret closet were words that I had spoken, neither kind or true,
There were lots of promises I had broken, and jobs I had failed to do.
There in all the rubish lay a bent and rusty tool, one I had neglected
Shamefully, it was God's Golden Rule.
I stood there before Him and He turned as tho He would depart,
I cried, "Oh Master, will you come and clean my heart?"
Now he stays and talks with me, wish I had listened from the start;
Everything is alright now, for He is the one who cleanses
The Temple of My Heart.
Comments about The Temple Of My Heart by Geneva Aileen Smith
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe