My writing is my diary, moments chained to time.
My life expressed indelibly, reflections in faith's prime.
Our lives will count mere seconds long, a momentary phase.
Yet images appear in tune but vanish in life's haze.

Yet I behold my trust is sold,
then floats beyond the drift.
Ravines that wait surround our wake
as clouds decide to lift.

Then I will dream of distant shores
where lovers deem to reach.
Where golden streets will welcome me
where billows wash hope's beach.

It's there I'll walk in mystic vales with hills that burst through mists.
The Lord's sweet words on stars are writ inscribed on jewelled lists.
Where saints like sheep have gone before rejoicing in God's sight.
The Holy Angels worship Him, with saints adorned in light.

R.Owen 27/07/2020