Running the Good Race

Looking back at the path they pointed me to,
Winding in ways unpredictable.
At the end of the road a hole 6ft deep.
Mother smiling, holding the rusty shovel.
Knowing nightmares all too personally,
That kept me awake quite regularly. The hand that fed me poisoned me,
Injected the venom permanently.
The face that they say should calm my soul,
Robs of my peace and turns me cold.
I shudder at the name, the frame, all the same.
Bitter hatred, profane, and she can’t be tamed.
Grey clouds surround what was once the face, of the woman who now is the one to blame.
For the stutter in my voice, the clutter in my thoughts,
The pain, the hurt and all the shame. Climbed out of the hole, 6ft deep. Stained, filthy, covered in dirt. Stopped to look back at how far I’ve come up,
Then looked to heavens and knew it was rebirth.
From death to life,but my path still unclear.
Many a road winding to nowhere. The thoughts of my past I still couldn’t bare.
Bunkers, bombs, blood, and a prayer.
A prayer to get out, a prayer to let go,
A prayer to deliver from the one who preys.
Remove me I asked, take me away. Anywhere but here, so I may see better days.
The venom drained out, by the blood of Him who saves.
The girl I once was, in her house; a slave.
Set free to my dreams and my own desires,
Let go to live, without pain and fear. Knowing where I’ve been, what I’ve seen, how I’ve felt.
Turning to the roads, pleading I knelt. “Father,” I said in my small, shaky voice.
“There are a thousand roads and so many seem pleasing. But the grip in my heart tells me one’s worth taking.”
I looked back once more to bid the darkness adieux.
Looked ahead to road that could only fit two.
The narrowest road, the least crowded of them all.
So my Father could walk with me, and catch me when I fall.
I worshipped aloud and stood up to my feet,
Took a deep breath and I remember…
Running… Running… Running…

Β©R. A. Douglas
September 18, 2012.



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