Poets’ Evangel

It’s a mirror

It’s a ladder

It’s a weapon for Mansoul

It’s a bombast

From the Christ past

Crying now to be made whole.

It’s a comfort 

For the wounded

And a hospice for their hurt

It’s a warning

To the haughty

That their Father came from dirt.

It’s another

Look at Calvary

And another, yet again

It’s a resume

On Jesus

Working still today for men.

It’s a fairground

For the senses

But it must not leave the trail

Of the journey

Ever upward

By the folk who pass Death’s Vale.

It’s an invite 

To the wayward

And a shelter for their night

It’s adoption

To a family

Resting washed and safe and right.

It’s an offering

From the heart’s purse

With but two small mites in hand.

It’s a blessing

To the writers

That they hardly understand.

 

Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

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