THE CHURCH

It is filled with dead souls hidden in holes like a cemetery.
The church on this earth is customary and filled with skeletons,
Though some souls are dead, others wait for God and cheery.
In the church, there are those that can’t wait to dance at my funeral.

My chum stands on a podium called the church his place.
The church carries all kinds of vegetables and fruits.
It is very bad and it is sad some feel they need no God’s grace.
The church as a terrain is so bad, one needs the gospel boots.

It is filled with weeds indeed the church is like a field.
Come and see some grains fall on good land others on rocks.
The church is like a man who goes to war without his shield
He can’t overcome and he sees his foe, dumb, and dies in shock.

Behold, that local church in Maypole is like a hospital,
Not everyone there is a director neither everyone is a doctor.
Not every patient endured harms that are sentimental or mental.
And some patients need psychologists, others need a proctor.

Like the tale of the Good Samaritan, the flock is not each one’s shock.
To be saved one needs self-control; the roads are narrow and difficult.
But God always has a plan for one of the passersbies to be a great puritan.
To be well equipped, ready to cancel his trip to save a victim from an assault.

I will stay strong in fellowship as if I am in a training ship in the church.
In spite of maleficent, indifferent, I will stay in the church though I weep.
My omnipotent God won’t be absent till I sleep and awake in the true church.
Oh, Father God, I pray, you are the way; smile for me when it’s time to reap.