Blessed is every waking moment, upon a brush our souls did rest

So angelic sounds the trumpet, what is life without sweet death?

It’s like the stars adrift in space, or gems with no apparent race

Still GOD thrust into us life, through his birthing hands of grace



With words piercing like a knife, quench of life from crystal seas

Precious sands from his hourglass, were place beneath willow trees

On the wrist of his unchanging hand, perched an angels face for man

Sifting through his manifestations, of dreams paradise & gardened land



GOD willed his time of manipulation, folding darkness as his foundation

Breaking back the mountains line, to prepare sun a resting time

Parting oceans with a modest glance, and causing life below to glare in trance

Yet yearning all the while for his heavenly post, the sensation of new life

GOD loved the most



Written by: John W. Hagans