Looking Up

It’s a wearisome path which is traveled alone,
and one I have left behind.
I could easily walk past each stepping stone –
rely on the strength of my mind.

The fog in the trees was nothing to fear:
blue hazes of simplety raw.
The darkness of shadows became something dear,
a novelty which became law.

I reveled in loneness; I knew it must save.
My days could adapt to this lie.
A heart could as easily beat in the grave –
less simple to live than to die.

I could stand on the precipice, ready to fall –
to permanently stop the pain.
To accept my end would bring peace to all;
there was no more in life I could gain.

Catching my breath I was ready to leap
but then was stopped short by a hand.
A voice tremored through me: “I’ve come from the deep.
This is not the ending I planned.”

Comfort and love were all I could hear,
the gentleness calling me back.
Afraid that this Saviour would soon disappear,
I turned ‘round, braced for an attack.

Blinded by light, I trembled complete,
my darkness: incomparably ill.
Unable to stand, I fell to His feet,
yearning to shadows to kill.

Trying so hard to rip off my apparel,
my weakness preventing this state,
I could my feel my heart becoming resentful
that I could not shed this trait.

Weeping again, I buried my face in the dirt.
I could not change myself.
I knew my Lord’s judgment should be my dessert –
a fairness in and of itself.

“Let me help you,” He said, coming down to my level,
and He held me as rain came to fall.
A scarlet blood downpour was the death of my vessel;
the scent of aster beds my shawl.

The quest wasn’t over – it had only begun.
Life wasn’t a solitary walk.
There were others whom by my Lord had won,
and together we lean on that Rock.

It’s a wearisome road which is traveled alone,
and one which I now defy.
I smile at the life unto which I have grown
and forever look up to the sky.