The Flower
I see a man, standing on a hill
He is Christ, the Lord
He is standing, waiting there for me.
From his face, light glows –
Golden under a golden sun.
The hills are scattered with trees and the grass is green –
Brighter than I have ever seen.
Flowers dress the grasses and smile under a perfect blue sky
And I look at Him.
I am a child; my heart drawn to his presence. And I wait.
As I look at him, he looks at me.
His robes are red and white; they move gently in the gentle breeze.
He is the Christ of the Cross, the Son of Mary, the Jesus of Nazareth, the
Beloved of the living God and now…
Standing on a hillside, in glory, next to me.
Radiant light and peace from him, emanate.
I run towards him and he is smiling; still smiling he bends to pick a flower.
It is a Marigold – orange and yellow and perfect.
He holds it in his hand and our eyes meet.
My Jesus, I am yours – you gave me the key to your heart
So I now wait, so happily, on you.
The light is so bright! The colours around me, so vivid!
Such brightness! Such life! Such love!
Jesus, who loves me, stretches out his hand.
In silence, hearts talking, he gives me the flower.
Oh precious flower, created by him, who stands there, with eyes so gentle,
Looking at me.
Let me stay here, with you!
But he is gone and I keep this moment for eternity in the broken, damaged
Heart he has made for love…
Poetry and Life Blog 