Honest Doubters
With not a hour in the day,
Nor a pebble in the street,
With wind feeding fire,
Our bodies are consumed with fleshly desires.
Not a member in a contest,
Or a gifted life to choose,
With Heaven untouchably high,
I cannot compete with the stillness,
In which the dying grass may lye.
Place your innocence on a decorative platter,
For your God to judge or devour,
You are left with one fate,
Heaven or Hell is all that awaits.
