I ran through the fields, in search of things I love,
To the world, I would give, not once but twice, my soul.
Tasted the lies of joy and tales of dreams,
Made-believe, of painted scenes.

Baleful clouds would form, to cover the cheery skies.
The thunders roared and fired  with light.
Weary was my soul, as the rain, they would fall.
Sluicing my dreams, that I held with pride.
Revealing bare nakedness, of one astray and dried.

Stretched, before me, were the hands of a man.
The scares on his hands, seems like a man I knew.
Intimate, we were, in the days of my youth.
The nails held him not, to the tree, on which he died,
But his love . . . . again, was affirmed in me.

The tears that flowed freely down my face,
Was the moment I found my hiding place.
A sanctuary of hope,
Of acceptance and grace.
For the scares you bore, will forever be,
A testimony of love, that you have for me . . . .