Sunday Prayers.

by John Smallshaw
(London, England)

I watched as his hands reached the sky
And as the heavens split apart
The Angels began to cry.

Some were later to recount of the sermon on the Mount
It was was fake
And it really didn't make the grade.
But it made my day.

Down the river they had heard
Of this man who spoke 'the word'
And they journeyed up to Galilee
To see this mystic hear him speak

The weak..the lame..and blind men they all came
And the man laid down the law.
What the people saw is what was there.
A man with unkempt hair and a voice that stirred some deepness deep inside.

We cannot hide..we cannot run..we put him on the cross our loss..
..and yet in pain we gain..his kingdom and his reign.
For evermore

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