A full moon stood still over oak trees stripped bare
from the winter wind stirring in the frigid air.
A boy walked beneath as if he didn't seem to care much at all.
He was bundled to his neck in winter clothes and regret.
He sighed and said, "I guess that's just what I get..
for never spreading my wings, but I was just too afraid to fall."
He sat on a stoop down by the old Woodbine house.
It was late and the small town was quiet as a mouse.
Then he removed from his bag a gold coin and said to himself,
"Wherever there's money, Lord knows that I've chased it.
But it can't buy back time and that's just what I've wasted.
Now I've traded my soul and I cannot replace it with wealth."
He packed up his bag that held the last of his treasures,
stuffed down jagged thoughts and the sting of past pleasures.
Then, into the night, he ran from monsters that lived in his head.
No matter how long, the days all looked the same
filled with fears of the unknown and that beckoning shame.
More than once, the boy thought 'maybe I'd be better off dead.'
But he remembered a name that his grandmother claimed
brought redemption for sinners and healing for the lame.
He whispered to the sky in desperation, "Can you heal me, too?"
The heavens were silent; there was no voice from the sky.
The boy fell to the ground and he couldn't help but cry,
"Redemption is nonsense that is just too good to be true!"
Then, out of somewhere, came some kind of peace
between the mouth of Town Springs and the woodland crease
and, suddenly, it all made sense and he chuckled out loud.
He'd been rich for some time and it was no life at all;
Just a foolish pursuit down an endless hall.
Now, what he'd found is a hope that is hidden from the proud.
A hope that the old church bells might still be ringing
and the people won't mind him in joining their singing.
A hope that *** is forgiving like the church people say.
Soon, hope turned to faith as if a bird found his wings.
He found redemption by the waters of Town Springs.
"Christ" is now more than a word heard when hypocrites pray.
A poem for the glory of ***.
A story of Redemption