This room became synonymous with death,
while waiting for relief from outside threats;
Hot and bare in wooded forest's scene,
stifling--hardly breathing---from the steam.
Recalling how I came upon this place,
running from the worst of the human race;
Folks who spend their lives in troubled spheres,
intending to cause harm and foster fear.
It wasn't long ago I had some friends,
who seemed willing to reach out and make amends;
But then mistrust and hateful thoughts arose,
which prompted me to gather all my clothes.
In summer's blazing heat I crossed a bridge,
and found this cottage on a mountainous ridge;
With few possessions curled up in a ball,
I lay in wait with hope no one would call.
And finally I heard the people's rants,
with fiery forces calling out in chants;
To surrender in humiliation and dismay,
or they'd drag me out and put me on display.
I must confess while praying to the Lord,
my crime was nothing horrid or abhorrent;
If God would let me live just one more hour,
these cramped quarters would be all I could desire.
And here I'll live in peace and honor still,
and cast no other stranger to the hill;
For every child should know he has a place,
within the bounds of God's amazing grace.
I wrote this months ago when contemplating the state of today's world, which has been seething with racism and hate, with folks not willing to give others another chance. Most people are good and kind, but there are those who prompt others to seek refuge from horrific circumstances.