A Poem on the Occasion of a Christian Youth Rally

Seven thousand souls, a serried crowd;
Of sinners in a holy huddle, loud;
Not with confession or lament – no noise
Of broken humble supplicating voice
From throats made hoarse by moaning tearful hours.
Grave deities these would not serve, nor pow’rs
Of whispers small who suffer children come;
Divinities so meek are fine for some…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.