Once there was a
King, barefoot
Not a beaut, like a root
Out of a dry ground
He loved a woman
As beautiful as a queen
His bride, his doe
She was to this man
But a fool she was,
She knew not Love
And searched for pleasure
As fleeting as a dove
Staggering and swaying
Floundering and faltering
Helpless, hopeless
Bleak and lifeless
Her steps tangled up in
Circles, tightly fastened in
Knots of “not’s”
Lots of “but’s”.
Lost
She was, at the Wasteland
Drunk in love for
Simple satisfactions
Distorted distractions
Coins of minutes
Dollars of hours
She traded endlessly for
Bottles of deceit
Notes of eyes
Pounds of ears
Over-the-counter lies
Syringed in her arm
Wavering and quivering
Shivering and shuddering
Tears glittering
Pooled in empty sockets
Breath lingering
But soon left, slithering
No fluttering
Time in empty pockets
A servant, barefoot
Not a beaut, like a root
Out of a dry ground
Acquainted with grief
Found the strayed woman
Paid her debts and
Carried her sorrow
Into the morrow
He gave her his eyes
Gave her his ears
Washed her in Blood
Whiter than snow
He gave her his breath
Gave her his Life
Though he was crushed
Oh, He was pleased
When the woman woke up
She could see and hear that
True Love had saved her
True Grace had forgiven her
In the arms of the Servant
She now lies in Joy
And proclaims to the world
Her Love for her King
Read the Book of Isaiah, chapter 53 for the origin of this poem.
Sunny is the reason the Son of God died. In this love, she is securely seat-belted in the rollercoaster of her Christian life, which is, by the way, one heck of a wild ride.