Wounded prose poem

Photo by Wiros

From the sneaky shadows and frightful darkness,
his saddened soul released terrifying wickedness.

Things which had died, arose from deep inside.
Perhaps it didn’t really demise, but simply hide.

Even he was surprised, but dismissed his pride.
Our own heart sometimes takes us for a ride.

How shocking, this dastardly deed lies in me!
I am good and enlightened! How can it be?

Apply poison, or smothering cover for unsightly weeds;
The cover may hide the weeds, but life is still in the seeds.

We may deny and hide, or sadly depart in hast and speed.
We may decide that it’s not time to reveal our secret deed.

If we do not deal with the sickness, and seek help to heal;
Our painted illusions and destructive deceptions remain with us still.

We know that there is hope and help for all our painful ills;
If we would dare to flee the darkness for the loving pill.
Christ is the pill who seeks our wounded hearts to heal.

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I am a retired minister and the husband of Barbara for 42 years. We reside in Sacramento ,Ca. We have two sons and a daughter, and we are the proud grandparents of 6 children.
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