The knock on the door was very gentle.
So I tried my best to ignore,
But if I never answered the knocking,
How would I know what was in store?
As the gentle knock became tapping,
I tried to clutter my mind,
With thoughts of fun and laughter,
But I was being unkind.
If I go to the door and answer,
And hear what the Man has to say,
I'll tell Him I'm way to busy,
And maybe then He'll go away.
Shaky, at first, then angry,
At who I really don't know.
I went to the door very quietly,
And opened it ever so slow.
The Man outside had a very kind face.
His hands were scarred clear through.
The words that He spoke made me tremble,
For I knew His story was true.
He told me things I could hardly believe,
About a cruel and wicked place,
Where men had nailed Him to a cross,
And how the sun had hid its face.
Then He spoke of peacefulness,
A place which He had prepared,
Where wickedness and worldliness,
Would never enter there.
The place He spoke so proud about,
Words on earth could never tell.
And as the Man kept on talking,
I knew I was headed for Hell.
By now my hands were shaking.
My face I hung in shame.
How could a sinner such as I,
Ever wear His name?
The door was only half open.
He asked if He could come in,
And tell me how I could go to that place,
And how He could forgive every sin.
I flung the door of my heart open wide,
And this Man, He entered there,
And now I am full of contentment,
For God has answered my prayer!
Rozita D. Martin
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PANCAKKE'S POETRY INDEX