Just a note:  If this is happening to you or your people, and you feel encouraged by this poem, please feel free to comment on what is going on.  I would love to pray for you.


A crowd mulls around, dressed in grey
I see targets from snipers in the fray
Nothing has been shot so far
They’re on the roof, not in a car

The targets are red and rings
They target as people do their thing
There is sand at their feet
There is no rain, snow, or sleet

Who is on the roof looking down?
Who is holding a frown?
The curtain comes down, and darkness reins
There is a sense of pain

Pain except for those who have been targeted with red
Are they those who have been saved instead?
As I write this prophetic ditty
I see their spirits are pretty

Pretty little swirls in the palm of His hand
Like the center of the egg; it’s the shell, the land
They’re safe there; he’s the fortress
They are given His loving-kindness


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