Faces
I see the faces. I hear their cry.
There’ll be many more, before I die.
The tales they tell. The sadness they hide.
Each story is heard from hearts opened wide.
They’ve fallen hard. Some have landed on top.
A few enjoy feasting; others just slop.
Still in their faces, they wonder why,
Should they follow truth, when others lie?
Times can be hard, yet taken in stride,
They strengthen the weary, who decide,
Nothing but me can make me a flop.
Jesus declares I’m the cream of the crop.
There is a truth, you cannot deny.
Unless you prefer where souls fry.
I see the faces. What must be inside?
How miserable is life with no Holy guide?
The walls need to fall. The facade must drop.
Life like this poem, will finally stop.
Then what of the faces and their reply?
Will they rejoice or painfully sigh?
Was their choice to follow their pride?
Or to be part of His glorious bride?
Whether they are real or just a prop,
Depends upon where their souls did shop.