Coffee on my table, beside is my pen
With its paper, oh here we go again
Letters will struck your hearts but will not strive your life
For in our boxes, we do not make Jesus our wife
In this world that will perish, God's world will never
So one must be the living word, let it flow on the stream of the river
You, as a Christian, should be the flesh of His word
As when everything turn into ashes, you as His word, will not perish in this world
In the narrow gate, you must be small first
So your soul will quench tight, like a camel but in your eyes is tears
You came in this world unclothed, everything is enough but your desire
Cause in the solemnity of a piano, you would still ask for a playing lyre
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
