Poetry

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It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over

Five year old Ronnie put a sandwich in his pack,
zipped it up tight and threw it over his back.
He tiptoed through the house and snuck out the door.
“I’m running away. I can’t take it anymore.”

“How can I help you?” The lady was kind.
“I have an aunt in Houston that I need to find.”
“Son, does your Mama know that you’re here.”
“Please don’t call her.” She could see his fear.

She knelt down beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Son, I know it hurts, but it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.
I’m gonna take you home and you’re gonna work it out.”
But she didn’t really know what his pain was about.

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“Ronnie,” Mama asked, “why’d ya run away?”
But Ronnie hung his head. He just couldn’t say.
She knelt down beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Son, I know it hurts, but it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

Ronnie had to listen night after night.
He was tired of hearing fight after fight.
But the fights were not the only secrets that Ronnie kept.
The most vile of nightmares took place after Mama slept.

He vowed he would get his vengeance one day.
“Somehow, some way, gonna make Daddy pay
for the awful things he’s doing to my Mama and me.
I know that this ain't the way things are supposed to be.”

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A big man met Ronnie at the prison door.
“Hey there, Stranger, what’cha in here for?”
But Ronnie hung his head. He just couldn’t say.
The trigger didn’t make all the pain go away.

Mama came to see him on a cold Sunday morning.
“I’m sorry, Ronnie. I should’ve seen the warning.”
“It’s not your fault, Mama. Please, don’t you cry.”
But he was on death row and Mama finally knew why.

He stood close beside her and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Mama, it won’t hurt. And this’ll soon be over.
I’m gonna go home where there ain’t no pain,
where little boys are safe and there ain’t no shame.”

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He knelt down beside Him and put His hand on His shoulder.
“Son, I know it hurts, but it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.
I’m gonna raise You up after three full days
so You can teach the world how to walk in My ways.”

They cried “Crucify!” and hung Him on a tree.
He told the thief “Tomorrow, you’ll be with Me.”
He hung His head down low, ‘til it rested on His shoulder.
“Abba, it’s finished. But it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

He came out of His tomb and spoke to His friends.
“You’ll be persecuted too , but this is not how it ends.”
He knelt down beside them and put His hand on their shoulders.
“Friends, I know it hurts. But it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”
© Joyce Pool

Colossians 3:21 Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged.

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