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Vanita P. Allgood

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Member Since: Feb, 2012

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In the days before Don't Ask! Don't Tell, the military had a way to marginalize undesirables. Welcome to the Gulag...  
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by Vanita P. Allgood

Sunday, August 19, 2012
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Vanita P. Allgood
•  House of Prayer
•  Merry Christmas
•  A Maiden he is seeking
           >> View all 5

A poem at the death of my mother it conforted me to know life does't end at death.


Behind every life a Weaver ultimately
Stands shrouding His plan for every man.
Dark threads are needful in the Master’s
Skillful hands for He know the pattern He’s planned.
What tapestry in mama’s heart He wove, the
Sacrifice self was decomposed. Love was
Her goal, To train me up in ways I went with
Mama the time was well spent. His tapestry thread
Of gold for he knew the pattern she’d unfold.
I’ve learned life’s lessons when I’ve
Grieved with lashes wet that God’s plans
Are right.  Each life closes into
Night and death has fused out temporal
Light that this time is perfectly right.
The Weaver is interweaving the silver in the horizon of night.
The loom of which she’s wove can never be diffused by
Temporal light, for in thee does she repose.  A crown of HIS
                                           Glory she holds, she’s the lily pure and white that He chose.
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