Your sin written with a steel pen,
And engraved with a diamond point;
On the tablet that is open,
With the oil that does anoint.
The tablet is upon your heart,
Upon the horns of your altar;
That in silence as you impart,
And impossible to alter.
Even your children remember,
Poles dedicated to their God;
Desires of burning ember,
Of the one they honor and laud.
On the high hills where the large trees,
On mountains of open country;
There is wealth blowing in the breeze,
Where has encamped the infantry.
God will turn treasures into loot,
Of your worship sites and your sin;
But it will not bear any fruit,
Since you are corrupted within.
Your inheritance you will lose,
He will give service to your foe;
For acknowledgement you refuse,
The true and living God to know.
You have stirred up rage and fire,
As anger will burn forever;
For the immoral desire,
Your bonding to God did sever.
Cursed is the person, who trusts man,
Who makes the flesh and blood his strength;
Turns away from God and His plan,
No longer on the same wavelength.
Your will be merely like a bush,
A tumbleweed in the desert;
Drifting and letting the wind push,
Too proud to allow to avert.
Bless the person, who trusts the Lord,
He will be a tree that takes root;
Flourished by the stream not ignored,
And will bear an abundant fruit.
Copyright © 2017 Richard Newton Sherrer