There comes a time, my sweet, <br />passed down through cirrus clouds <br />to man, by little messengers from God, <br />whom children know as proper angels; <br />where true believers do adore their wings <br />and all of Heaven's precious things, <br />it's stuck in hieroglyphs, papyrus-white, <br />and says it as it is, for me, when time has come. <br /> <br />Will you not stand and use your armour now, they ask? <br />The sword of Attila, honed at the foundry's glow, <br />you must defy your destiny, beat demons to the ground, <br />or will you falter at the sight of Hannibal? <br /> <br />I was, and there is ample proof as I am proud, <br />laying my hand upon the portas to convey <br />that Caesar's soldiers shall prevail to honour all <br />when mighty clouds did part and He then spoke to me. <br /> <br />I shall not fret at God's own wishes, nor obey, <br />the word of man is without meaning, bare of pride. <br />Perhaps there WILL be time and willingness to pray <br />as I embark on my most silly, final ride.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/good-bye-56/
