A Poem for Sons, in the Dark

A Poem for Sons, in the Dark

Darkening Sky,
Pelting Rain,
Gathering Inertia,
Swelling Pain,
Slipping Feet,
Muscles Strain,

Down, Down, Down I fall onto my face.

The trail ahead is steep,
Shrouded in darkness and fog,
But the Mountain looms through dark,
Forbidding all who come.
Enemies line the way in mass,
And I am overcome.

The way is choked with thorns and foes,
And I am choked with fears and doubts.

Faith finds me not in this hour of despair,
Alone in the dark,
Weak and unable to press ahead,
The dust of the earth chokes my lungs,
blinds my eyes,
and dries out my tongue,

Then in the solitude of my misery and defeat,
I let out an anguished cry
And it goes up, up, up into the sky

Little do I know,
In the ignorance of despair and pain,
The cry pierces the darkness falling,
And the falling rain,
It flies straight and true like an arrow,
Into the heart of God.

Then from within comes the Comforter,

The Helper raises His voice,
And despair shakes in fear.
“Look back before you try to rise,
And see from whence you have come”

The world will always say,
“Leave the past in the past and don’t look back”
But I turn my ahead anyway,
At the command,
There behind is a trail of tears and blood,
Of toil, struggle, and pain.

But then my eyes clear,
There streaming back mile after mile,
Piles of broken chains and shattered fears,
Defeated Foes,
And joy through tears,
Peace in the midst of chaos,
Victory through defeat,
All the way back to an old, rugged cross,
Where a slave died and a son was born,
And the all sufficient man placed His life,
Into the insufficient man who had none.

I weep tears of joy at the sight,
Then comes my Counselor’s quiet voice
“Now Son you may look around you,
And set yourself for the road ahead”

And when I seek to rise to dance upon this mountain of injustice,
I find a hand waiting to lift me up,
Where I swear there was none before,
There I find an army waiting,
That had been there all along,

So I rise up on my feet,
But leave the dust as a reminder on my clothes,
Shields of Faith locked around me,
Safe in the community of brothers and sisters,
Comforted by those placed by the Swift, Sure Hand at my side,
This is the fellowship of those who do not fear despair,
The sons and daughters who have turned defeated into a sweet offering.

We are not a people who need relief from pain and torment, death defeat or despair,
For every time we die,
We rise again!

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