If the past has a portal,
I take up the blood of the Lamb,
And apply it to its door-posts,
And lintels,
That it cry out for this sinner,
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
The door to heavenly Eternity.

Cry, my Beloved,
To plead mercy on my history,
Bring 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