Judgment

So...this poem is about the final judgment. It is not entirely correct because, theologically, the final judgment is, commonly among Premillenialists at any rate, split into two parts. These parts being the Great White Throne Judgment and the Bema Seat Judgment. One of these will be for Christians who have been saved by the blood of Christ and the other will be for non-Christians who are, unfortunately, doomed to hell. In this poem I focus not of the theological exactness of the Premill understanding of the final judgment but instead on the idea of the Lord as judge of the dead. So, leaving aside certain theological intricacies I have attempted to evoke a response in the reader to the greatness of the Lord, his worthiness as a judge, and the difficulty that judging the guilty entails.

Death follows life
As suredly as winter to the fall
The natural cessation of our worldly woes
In freedom souls fly from fleshly cage
To await final judgment
A white throne and sat upon it
A Lord in all his glory, blazing eyes
To judge the righteous and the wicked
A word and then quick gesture
That to know or sadly not
And then set to eternity
For life's just consequence