Paige Scott

An angel set the sky ablaze
With an orb of crimson fire—
The smoke that rose was a purple haze
That spread o’er the flaming sky.
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I have a treasure, dear friend of mine.
I have cherished it long, you know.
Really, it’s a part of me;
I am ready to share it though.
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How beautiful is creation
On this warm, sunny day.
How grand to see God’ creatures
His own sweet words obey!
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Do you remember love?
It was so long ago;
Yet I remember dearest one,
And I want you to know.
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I look at clouds of gray and white
And yearn to float away.
It would be nice to sit on one,
For all the livelong day.
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*** One of my Christian themed poems.***

The Potter took a lump of clay and shaped it with His hands.
And when ‘twas finished all did say “’Tis lovelier than all.”
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***One of my Christian themed poems. Allegory.***


Strolling down a sylvan path,
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Softly the rhythm beats, pulses and beats;
Quietly the music notes fly.
Like a charmer it’s magical melodies
Mesmerize— enchant—lead away.
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The Christian does not fear thee, Death,
Nor does he dread the grave;
For thou art just a means of wealth
That one day he shall have.
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*- Once more, a challenge from my sister. She gave me the title and said 'Write something. I know you can do it.' With her around, I'll probably never get writers' block! ! ! -*


In the back of my mind, though I’m smiling,
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I remember the look on his dear face as he told me “I love you.”
I can see myself, heartbroken, saying that I loved him too.

I remember that I held his hand while he whispered “Goodbye, dear.”
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*-I was up late, and my sister challenged me to write a poem. I told her I could not possibly do so on a whim, without any 'inspiration, ' but she persisted. She said, 'Call it 'The Light'.' So here is my poem- written on a whim, very quickly done. Hope it turned out alright! ! -*
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A dainty cup and saucer grew upon a stem.
And pretty little ruffles adorned the both of them.
The China set was yellow and gently washed by rain—
Of course by April showers the cup is filled again.
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I like it when the days are grey—
But not quite black and white—
When rain descends to wash away
The darkness and the light.
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The sun shone down through the window—
I thought I saw you there.
But it was just a memory
The light put out with care.
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Keats once claimed that beauty
Shall always be a joy.
But how—I ask—can this, then, be—
When beauty often fades?
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Thousands upon thousands are slain
Each year, are killed in cruel, cold blood.
Thousands cry out, but to no avail—
They are attacked with cruelest hate.
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