To Be Where Angels Roam Poem by Göran Gustafsson

There was a city on a hill
With gambling of the truth
And shares and banker's bill
Were sold from every booth

They offered fame and riches
And life for evermore
- Just leave your soul to us,
- Or else, walk out that door!

The dust of time had grown
Within our scattered minds
The mirth had turned to moan
And covered eyes with blinds

There was but greed of gain
Out on that lonesome road
I bowed my head in pain
And took my cross, my load

I stumbled down the slope
In rain and heavy storm
There was no sign of hope
Until the break of morn

I turned aside and there she was
In white with crown of thorns
She held my heart and softly spoke;
- I'll be a shelter from the storm

I gazed into her shining face
With moon and stars beyond
A time of endless space
That has no earthly bond

I broke through walls and wire
With no direction home
I'd seen my soul's desire
To be where angels roam

Copyright © 2012 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved