He–the family’s token Jesus freak
and choice focus of their endless fodder.
His earthly voice neither soft or meek
His silence binding wounds of words they speak
Every day he lived, he held his peace
In his right hand –life his left–quietus
Each dawn he spoke, “this day darkness cease!
Soul be still with my mind riotous!”
Christ his lone pavilion, where demons
came to play.
He loved that which he could neither grasp
nor to his house explain
what within him lay
Comfort fleeting, and in it’s wake–
Some thought him simple
Others simply mad
His forebearance, strong evidence of each
as he suffered them with all the grace he had
acquiescing the depths– others may never reach.
Until the day he had too long lived and lingered,
too long despaired, deep without release
he stirred the final mercy
with trembling, touched–his longed for God
When life is what it is, and people don’t understand, a Christian heart still beats, still loves, refusing to let go of it’s eternal desire…Christ, His Grace suffiencient, it is enough.