PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

[to F. L. L., her parents and siblings;

October 15, 1977; November 26, 1977

through January 1, 1978;

January 9, 1978 through January 9, 1994]

Truth told---Autumn Nineteen Seventy-seven

brought me good news of the Kingdom of Heaven

for the first time in my long "might have been."

I worshipped with good Christians born again.

But at the solstice, those who brought me there

became coldly remote, nor seemed to care

whether I should believe unto salvation;

or else cling to my old life, steeped in sin,

with its foregone conclusion of damnation.

They are gone now.  The wealthy home they flaunted

stands empty, derelict, and (some say) haunted.

Some say that shadows walk there, heard to scream;

and people who trespass there sometimes dream,

later, of being killed by suffocation.

So most avoid that place:  it has bestowed

a sinister, enduring reputation

the whole length of that rural, twisted road.

Remains, elsewhere, a bare slab:  the foundation

of their church house that fell into disuse.

I wonder if this sad, somber condition

was brought about by this one family

(the five of them), perhaps by their abuse
(presented as subtle hostility;

and, always, their unspoken inquisition

of one's life---carnal sins, their main suspicion).

Long years I drifted (three years short a score)

in doubt, caught in deep spiritual degradation.

But---January Nineteen Ninety-four---

Christ stooped to offer to me just one more

chance to come in repentence to Salvation,

I went, that evening, without hesitation,

glad for my Savior's gracious invitation.

Starward

[jlc]