by louis gander
From birth, thrown in a frightful scene, as life unveils its scroll. We travel to and fro until a pathway finds our soul. Our days are dark and dreary. Our nights are long and cold. But here on earth we break our trail - until we all grow old. ... I broke my lonely pathway. I traveled all alone - and it, a unique pathway - none else had ever known. I traveled my own pathway. I'd everything to lose. But no one knew my pathway and - no one wore my shoes. One day I happened on a trail aside from sin and hate - but few were drawn onto it - so narrow and so straight. And on it I saw footprints, that wavered, not the least. I followed them most carefully though problems never ceased. That pathway found no safety - and I had questioned 'why?'. I heard the growling animals. Black vultures circled high. A lion jumped in front of me. I froze - my faith devoid. My goal, career and future were virtually destroyed. I heard loud screams from others - more painful shrieks and cries - and yes, I still was frightened - not cloaked from sin and lies. A jungled mess of selfishness, a shadowed woods misguided - drove the anger ever close. My fear had not subsided. Yet... steady still, those footprints. They wavered not a bit. They never once had faltered. That 'someone' never quit. I stopped and rested quite awhile, then carried on again. Faith had urged me onward so - to flee from evils sin. Still wavered not, those footprints, still spaced the same apart - this 'Someone' had a purpose, this 'Someone' had a heart. They led straight to a clearing. It was so peaceful there. I stopped and saw a beauty, to which nothing could compare. My mouth fell open, as to speak. Mere words were at a loss. I saw those faithful footprints aim - directly to a cross. Then clumsily, I stumbled - I grasped that mighty tree. My 'little faith' reached for support, until grace lifted me. 'Born again', I was that day, when I was made complete. I hugged that bloody, splintered cross - 'til back upon my feet. And yes, my eyes were opened. Spilt blood had left the hint. For clearly seen in crimson was - His faithful, final print. ... God sees us run in circles as, we leave prints deep in clay. He sees our every footprint as - we're lost along the way; Our path is never narrow, nor straightway Heaven-bound - and feet are either on our paths - or in His footprints found. 2010 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED -------
Copyright 2004-2016 louis gander **a writer of short story poems. www.ganderpoems.org/ Written 5-10-16. FREE to print with copyright information included - Not for resale. Please let me know when & where my poem is used. It lets me know your favorite ones. Thank You
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