Posted in Fiction, Poetry

Hanging by His Hand by L. M. Montes

The present is but a wave
creeping toward the shore,
then in a breath it’s gone–
backwards evermore.

In life our friends and family,
warm our hearts and stay,
in our minds and in our soul,
then gone to our dismay.

Time’s wind blows at vicious speeds,
our memories we take hold,
that is all we have one day,
when we are growing old.

Alone we feel when most are gone,
as to the grave they go,
where does one lean in nothingness,
no one is there, you know.

But Christ is here and looking down,
and sees our pain that stands,
His love surrounds and comforts,
as you’re hanging by His hand.

by L. M. Montes

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