Wandering Soul

The wandering soul

Standing at the crossroads

Before heaven but after earth

Unsure of where the path will lead

Standing near the graveyard of

The good deeds

Which were never committed

And next to the sycamore of sin

Being pushed by the howling wind

And frozen by the icy breathe of hate

Frightened by the eerie silence

Of the absence of the ticking of the clock

Which he has become so accustomed too

That he forgot it was even there

Until it stopped and he realized

He was gone before he started

So petrified and terrified

He is brought into the courtroom of faith

And fruitlessly looks towards the sky

To see the charities he had done

But the trees block out the heavens

So no starlight shines through

And now he is frightened

Not for his life

But for his eternity

For which is about to be condemned