Poetry

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Once was born a lovely boy,
  with a seed of dark in his heart.
He did not learn the concept of joy.
Fear became his heart's mark.
All too well he had learned
  the hate that men would do.
Apathy was what his love earned
  from the man he was born to.

To him his life seemed a mistake
  taught by the things his father said.
His best friend was his heartache,
  second only to his soul's dread.
In time his father drunk himself to death, 
  but not before he named his scorn.
Declaring to his son, like a last breath:
"I wish you had never had been born!" 

So he learned that people were haters 
   and they would cause him grief.
And, if not, in their anger
  having no love they would leave. 

He also knew he missed the mark,
  not knowing the mark of true men. 
It shrieked in his heart like a mocking lark,
  left him feeling further damned. 
As things go, he grew older,
  keeping inside the fearful child.
His fear grew, as fire grows bolder,
  he learned to hide inside.
He made masks of pride to help him appear
  he was not his father's mistake.
Each an ego, with strings of fear,
  to hold these masks & hide his ache.

One mask was named Superiority.
It said, "I'm better than you."
It aimed to hide inferiority.
A lie he had bought into.  
Another mask, Self-Sufficiency  
  that said, "I'm okay."
He didn't know this great misery
  was part of Satan's sway.

Yet these masks failed to hide
  the fear of loss within. 
In these fears he chose to abide,
  leading him into sin. 
For fear of loss, he'd be possessive, 
  to keep the love of another. 
When resisted, he was passive-agressive,
  the love he gained was smothered.

He could not bear the horrid thought,
  another seeing his father's son.
If they saw what his father wrought,
  he'd be more than undone.

He learned to hide in plain sight,
  adept he was at this. 
Staying in shadow, so near the light,
  he didn't know what he had missed. 
Love and Truth was very near,
  calling out his name.
Terrors made it hard to hear
  behind a wall of blame. 

Then one day, they had enough,
  this Love and this Truth. 
In a Man, with heart so soft,
  they came with their proof. 
He came to that frightened man,
  hiding behind a mask.
This Man's mission for this damned,
  wrought in loving task.

He befriended the masked one
  with His gentle ways.
He made this one feel like a son,
  encouraging with His praise.
"Praise Me," He said, "for how you're made.
You are My delight!
I have formed you with highest grade,
with My highest might!

"Look to Me, I'm the Man, 
  you desire to be.
You stand before the great I AM.
Believe, and you will see."

"Don't You know who I am?
I'm my father's scorn. 
From first breath I was damned. 
Why was I so born?"

"By My will, you are here.
I created you with pleasure.
You are Mine, ever dear,
  by grace of endless measure. 

"Come to Me, see My plan,
  borne for a hope and future.
I will make you a true man,
  sown with a spiritual suture.

"I know who you are, with sins so many, 
  that is why I came,
with My grace, so vast and plenty; 
  with a Name above all names.

"Give Me joy, believe and act
  on My word and Spirit.
Show Me you. Remove the mask. 
  Show the world you repent."

With trembling hand he took the mask, 
  and threw it to the ground. 
Love and Truth had finished the task,
  and heaven made a joyful sound.

"The sound you hear is our Father,
  delighting in your choice. 
By that act I'm now your Brother, 
  and why our Father voiced." 

Then the man, with face exposed,
  saw with greater light. 
While being weak, saw Sharon's Rose, 
  that He was his good might. 
These masks of pride hid the truth,
  for masks can blur one's vision. 
He almost missed the loving proof
  in the True Man's mission. 

If true men are truly strong, 
  they can be truly weak.
They can sing the True Man's song
  and live the True Man's speech.

So we end the unending tale 
  the son once born of a father's scorn.
In the Truth that lie pales. 
The boy has been reborn.



Based on a true life. I am the boy. This poem was 52 years in the making.

Psalm 27

Proverbs 11:17 - "The merciful man does good for his own soul, But he who is cruel troubles his own flesh."

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