T R A I L S

 

 

 

 

 

Trails to the butte,

The circular steps taken by so many.

Where do they go?

They go to gold roofs of plenty.

 

In adorned rooms they gloat,

Haughty to all they see from the porch.

But each heart is unaware,

That their houses will burn as if set by a torch.

 

“At the top”, they say they are,

“I have no other need”, is their echoing cry.

But their voice is heard by God,

Who will punish those that were silent to the poor which die.

 

In majesty from God, is God,

And no man can go before Him who made them.

So travel your high placed trails, but fallen you will be,

When before Christ you bow to Him.

 

                                                                                                            Selah   

Trails by Ronhales                                                                                                                                                         Psalm 49:16-17

View this writing on designer paper.        Home