If the past has a portal,
I take up the Gift,
The blood of the Lamb,
And apply it to the door-posts,
And lintels,
That it may cry out for this sinner,
And my heritage,
That the Angel of Death
May pass me by.
Cry for me, My Beloved,
In my night,
That the past,
Now cleansed,
Open in Your Heart
A door to heavenly Eternity.
Cry, my Beloved,
Plead mercy on my history,
And newness of Life,
In this cleansed space of being,
New Creation,
A heart and soul after Your Own.
Henceforth and forever one.
© 2014 Joann Nelander
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