THE LAST DAYS

A Poem By Mercy Susanna

Photography by Mercy Susanna

Headlines read plague abound

Death and mishap lurk around

Would barely make a secret blend

Drawing lines and glance of tend

We are humans out of dust

Losing love for all the lust

Could we brave out mighty blow?

Jolted roaring thunder glow!

Wash us, cleanse us, inside-out

Let go of dirt, we muse about

Sin and guilt, help overcome

Bind our faith till Jesus come

"AND SHE SHALL BE CALLED WOMAN"

Genesis 2:23

A poem by Mercy Susanna

From the book, Blessed Creation :A Christian Poetry Collection

One bone you chose

That shields his heart

Mist up with flesh

A pluperfect art!

You made me his crown

Strong yet so fragile,

Gentle and quiet

Worth in your sight.

Lord, I was barren,

You cast off my disgrace

While I picked my pieces

In the dust of the earth.

From Eden did I hear,

A hushed tone of voice;

Arise, Oh little girl

The womb has been opened.

You conquered those doubts

That pull me down from the sky,

Hence unlocked my thoughts

And gave me wings to fly.

So my soul sings with joy

for You took my heart;

Lord, You have turned me,

Into a pluperfect art!

Written in agreement with the Scriptural references:

Genesis 2:23, Genesis 2:21, Proverbs 12:4, 1 Peter 3:4, Luke 1:7, Luke 1:21,25, Luke 8:54, Isaiah 40:31, Luke 1:46

Blessed Creation : Click on this to download this

 amazing Christian Poetry Collection written by forty talented poets.

You can also meet the poets by clicking this link below. Meet the Poet

Meet my friend Kim Bond, Sister in Christ, at Draw Near for more free e-books.

O death, where is thy sting?

1 Corinthians 15:55

A Poem by Mercy Susanna

Photography by Mercy Susanna

I pulled into the graveyard,
Skulls and bones kissing my feet;

I ate the dust of the earth
As a serpent oozing out venom;

Like a swine in a squalor, 
Did I struggle with my sin;

I wandered in a quiet desert,
Looking for an oasis of hope;

There's drunken pride in my eyes,
Concealing my ignorance well;

For the breath of life, I fought,
O, LORD! 
But You, I haven't sought;

As my heart opened up to the One,
Whose face outshines the brightest star;
Mercy descended from above,
Mending this wounded scar!

A prayer of an afflicted man. When he is faint and pours out his lament before the LORD.

Photography by Mercy Susanna

Hear my prayer, O LORD; let my cry for help come to you. Do not hide your face from me when I am in distress. Turn your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly. For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers. My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forgot to eat my food. Because of my loud groaning I am reduced to skin and bones. I am like a desert owl, like an owl among the ruins. I lie awake; I have become like a bird alone on a roof. All day long my enemies taunt me; those who rail against me use my name as a curse. For I eat ashes as my food and mingle my drink with tears because of your great wrath, for you have taken me up and thrown me aside. My days are like evening shadow; I wither away like grass. 

But you, O LORD, sit enthroned forever; your renown endures through all generations. You will arise and have compassion on Zion, for it is time to show favor to her; the appointed time has come. For her stones are dear to your servants; her very dust moves them to pity. The nations will fear the name of the LORD, all the kings of the earth will revere your glory. He will respond to the prayer of the destitute; he will not despise their plea. Let this be written for future generation, that a people not yet created may praise the LORD: "The LORD looked down from his sanctuary on high, from heaven he viewed the earth, to hear the groans of the prisoners and released those condemned to death."

So the name of the LORD will be declared in Zion and his praise in Jerusalem when the peoples and the kingdoms assemble to worship the LORD. In course of my life he broke my strength; he cut short my days. So I said: 

"Do not take me away, O my God, in the midst of my days; your years go on through all generations. In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands.

They will perish, but you remain; they will all wear out like a garment. Like clothing you will change them and they will be discarded. But you remain the same, and your years will never end. The children of your servants will live in your presence;  their descendants will be established before you."

Psalm 102

The Appointment!

Why are you downcast,O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God. Psalm 42-11

It's been one long month that I haven't thought anything to pen down. How does that feel for someone who is called to do so? A lazy workman? Or an unfaithful being? Or a reluctant sloth? Every day I wake up to an annoying alarm ringing in my ears. I plan the busy schedule and set out for the daily business. And then come back, stare at the ceiling, connecting dots when I shut my eyes and the day ends. Every day, the same, feeling nothing inside, except empty. One fine day I realized that I had stopped reacting to situations, even to the complex ones. May it be gloomy or happy,I just stopped. Writers feel numb sometimes. It makes me feel so inconvenient that I knew not what to write. There may be these two cases that I think I have observed. It might me that, I have many things on my mind that I can't put down anything or, this case that I have absolutely nothing, except the fading background. The way I get experienced is way too unusual. Being exposed to the smoke of the traffic, books, cultures, colors, literature, nature, food, and the gravity of the big planet, drives me to the desk I long to sit at. And pull out the big blue diary to pour out the anxiety, frustration, delight, humor, praise, huh, what not. At the end of the day, the flavors combine to form a tinge of essence which helps me find the purpose of life to know exactly what it really means. I have learned that I'd be stable when I write at least two lines of praise on my daily basis. Maybe, that's my appointment to pour it all out. It might be dramatic but it's true that writers need solace, rather I wish to say, writing is the solace. At least for me. :)

AT THE CROSS

(poem by Mercy Susanna)

Into the heart of the city

Ran with fastened shoe lace

Back pack almost hefty

out of the world at fast pace

Laid my eyes on two road-steads

one the narrow and the other wide

with traffic lights greens and reds

Former can I flee to hide

Trotting into shrinking street

bugs and grass itch my limb

Step by step as I sneak

leaving behind the somber grim

Sinking sounds of crowded barney

Sniffing scent of floral bloom

Sudden stop like a troop of an army

that halted at the summer noon

A structure seemed like painted cross

Dripping sinless blood across

Inclined to ground in a distance mile

Efface the shame of foxy guile

“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many." Matthew 7:14 ESV

B R O K E N

B R O K E N

Photography by Mercy Susanna

Met her in my college days

Young and light and apple face

Oh so beautiful she

Promised her life with me

You hop from clouds to stars

Setting me behind the bars

Now that I am weak and lean

Impatient, restless to glean

Take me too, my darl!

I'm waiting for the call

He is

B r o k e n

Running, chasing dreams

Raring to rise the realms

Hey! I've got the key

There's none ever like me

One by one

the hope's grounding

Day by day

My faith starts fading
Isn't that ruining me?

Oh, how could this be?

He is

B r o k e n

Dark and lone night

She sits under the sky

Setting out the fight

As folks passing by

Weary and withdrawn

Wrestling deep inside

The scars had never gone

In her do they abide

Watching and waiting..

She is

B r o k e n

One that taught you walk

The one that pat your back

His vocals part of the radical

How could you turn a prodigal

Oh my! Oh my lad

with open arms your dad!

He is

B r o k e n

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.

Psalm 147:3


*The world is full of brokenness around. Every person goes through testing and trials. Waiting patiently, understanding the situations and visualizing God's plan for your life will lead you to Him. This poem is an emotion of few such people in the realistic world.