I sleep, death has no victory, But my heart waketh: I hear his sound. It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, I am his, a sheep of his fold, Saying, Open to me, My sister, joint-heir; My love, chosen; My dove, ravished; My undefiled: sanctified. For my head is filled with dew, To the satisfying of the soul, And my locks with the drops of the night. Fueled by tears, purified by suffering.
Song 5.2 |Open
The Bible Bistro 
This is beautiful. God bless you dear Sir. I have been inspired by God my whole life and poetry is a gift I am grateful for. ❤️
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Thank you, Amanda, I appreciate the kind words. I loved your poem, and I agree that poetry is a wonderful gift, and for me, a way to process my day.
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❤️😁 You are welcome. You are doing well too. I am glad you like my poem. It’s honor to have others gather to share and express. This is partly why I have a blog. It’s a good way to share the Lord’s gifts.
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