i can't sleep so i decided to blog some poems that i find nice. :D Poems help me fall asleep.

What Can The Dying Man Do?
What can the dying man do for himself?
In the form of a bill, in the shape of a coin.
All he has worked for cannot mend his health;
He has spent his life toiling, only to die.
His family and loved ones he all pushed aside;
He gave up what mattered for money, for pride.
But silver nor gold no power doth hold
When it comes to the wrath of God.
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The Hard Road
Everybody's leaving; the world is in dismay.
Still I am a'cleaving to this Bible, to this way.
Friends bid me farewell as I continue down this road.
Sometimes as I watch them pass I feel this heavy load--

Load of sadness, load of angst.
I know I should be giving thanks.
It's so hard to bear this load, to walk this road.
Like that man of constant sorrow,
I wonder if that bright tomorrow
Will ever come, will ever be.

Yes, God said it
And I believe.
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-Untitled-
Long are the days when people cry
Far are the roads that people trudge
Loud are the whispers of a sigh
Bound are the ones who hold a grudge
Things we have done and can't undo
Hold our minds in stern regret
Wishing we'd thought it through and through
Daring not let ourselves forget
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Oh Souls Around Me
O Sad Soul,
Rejoice evermore.
You are awaiting
For the heaven's more
That was promised you
In the Old Book of Faith.
Gather your patience,
Just a while more wait.

O Doubtful Soul,
Childlike heart all up-grown.
Now for all things
Evidence must be shown.
And if there is none,
Then you will not believe.
To earthly logic
You hang and you cleave.

O Weary soul,
Is this race far too long?
Can't but look back
At the times you were strong.
Out is the fire
That once burned in your eyes.
Winded and wounded,
Know God hears your cries.
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Upon This Train
Today upon this train i sit
Awaiting when i shall return
To my dear husband, 'ma, and kid
And tell them all what I have learned

Upon this train I sing my song
And wonder at the echo's ring
For this train ride must be so long
And I'll be bored if i don't sing

I met some people, kind but grave
Who feared the train would never reach
I could not stand their panicked state
So I got the Reverend to stand and preach

I write to you, dear ones at home
With pen in hand and tear in eye
I miss you so, oh you must know
That you are in this heart of mine

And if I die upon this train
Then I state: I have no regret
For God's own Son for me was slain
And on dear Jesus my mind is set

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the last one is kinda sweet isn't it? can imagine that lady in the train writing. it's a little funny too, the panicked state part.

goodnightey~