POETICAL ME

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 Harvest The Many
Stretch out your arms this morn
Reach out to Me who calms all storms
Rejoice, be glad in telling all
I Am, I Am to them I call

The fields are ripe to harvest now
Time is at hand, my hands that showed all how
For even nails though pierced for man
Shall not steal one upon my hands

I tell you this who needs to go
To land, harvest all those I know
Who know not me but know the world
That blinds the souls countless, my fold

I walked the land before their time
Their sphere called home I made is mine
Yet even though I own each speck of dust
The lost need harvest, today to trust

Show them, teach them that all shall wither
Who fail to see evil that slithers
Around their lives, outside and in
The pleasures birthed from dark their sins

Reject some will but blanks please fill
With Love, of ME who swallowed bitter pill
Before too late, before today
Fades fast before their eyes now plays

Tell them of me who knows of them
Tell all and say how they condemn
Themselves by hands not pried from cross
But by their own whose soul got lost

 


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