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Rated: E · Poetry · Religious · #1196129
A poem about looking down at the world after death and seeing it through God's eyes.
DIVINE SIGHT

                                       Imagine the world as a vast multitude
                                       Of ever-changing picture shows . . .
                                       Each harboring some tragedy or feud
                                       That always comes and goes,
                                       With players masking faces to occlude
                                       Their anger, fears or woes.

                                       How compelling it must be,
                                       Far above to watch it all . . .
                                       To calmly hold the lock and key,
                                       While waiting for some skyward call
                                       ---Of a simple prayerful plea---
                                       When sudden tribulations fall.

                                       The children are the ones to view,
                                       For they can't hide their feelings.
                                       They stumble over words untrue,
                                       Most honest in their dealings;
                                       And He on high can now ensue,
                                       To make more accurate revealings.

                                       People battle, push or shove,
                                       While groping at security
                                       ---Never thinking up above,
                                       He's watching on in pity---
                                       When all they really need is love,
                                       To build the perfect city.

                                       By seeing each and every side
                                       Of conflicts and their starts,
                                       His wisdom's strong and deep and wide,
                                       But an easy answer thwarts.
                                       Knowing when and where they must collide,
                                       God wishes they could hear Him in their hearts.

                                       Like the scientist with his pets,
                                       He observes to make things better.
                                       Though some are lost---with deep regrets,
                                       A few must always pay the debtor;
                                       But here and there, a soul He sets
                                       Whose life is perfect to the letter.

                                       Was it God who made this saint?
                                       Did He endow a special vision
                                       Upon the man no one could taint,
                                       Or has the mind itself arisen?
                                       Though His voice is soft and faint,
                                       There are a few who seem to listen.

                                       Quieted be those which He hath spared,
                                       Wondering now what lies in store
                                       For the ones who courageously dared
                                       To travel on through life once more.
                                       They are freed from sorrows shared,
                                       And knocking at that golden door.

                                       When at last there's one of choice
                                       Who justifies the means,
                                       God sends down a cloudless voice
                                       Which makes approval and redeems;
                                       And angels now with all rejoice
                                       As He most charily intervenes.

                                       By His wisdom He does know---
                                       It's not the dying which we dread,
                                       Not the fact that we must go,
                                       Nor the burying of our head,
                                       Or even pain which we may show,
                                       It's just not being here instead.

                                       And though He whispers,
                                       We all shall hear it:
                                       From the voices of the vespers,
                                       When the body leaves the spirit,
                                       Tell your brothers and your sisters,
                                       "Just be calm and do not fear it."

                                       Then you'll see my smiling face
                                       ---Far above the mountains high,
                                       Where in heaven I've sought my place,
                                       Away beyond the limitless sky---
                                       Resting now in His good grace;
                                       So lift your heads and do not cry.

                                       And when on high with Him I rest,
                                       Please believe it is not doom!
                                       For I will flourish among the best;
                                       Above it all I shall loom---
                                       At last, an accepted theatrical guest,
                                       As the whole universe becomes my living room.

---Sandra Hookham
(horsetrainer)
© Copyright 2006 horsetrainer (sh5349 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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