Such deep wells
    of pain and anguish
         within the human soul.
Source of Living Water?
                  More like sludge!
         and blood from wounds that ever gape.

I too would sing a song of Light and Life.
I would dance and be free –
    childlike, playful.
I would have (m)others proud
    of what I've been and done.
But this is not the way, it seems.

Perhaps I wallow in the muck –
    a prison of my own making.
Well, if that is true, I never knew
    I wove such bonds to hold me fast.
I never knew the fate I sealed
    with every bolt and latch.
The doors I'd closed behind me, firmly,
were meant to set me loose:
    "Never look back – forward into the new!"
And now I learn that it can never be
    a way to freedom, true –
Unless I turn – return –
    undo the locks and bars so firmly placed,
         greet the new remembering what's been …

I peek:  what darkness, pain and sorrow –
    once small creatures locked away,
         now filled with poisoned power lie within!
I daren't open doors and locks –
    beasts grown angry at long imprisonment
         would sweep me away –
              I'd come unstuck!
So quickly slammed again –
safer not to ask what might be lurking
    struggle on to a future of my own making …

SILLY CHILD!  As if you had the power to choose
    the way that you would venture on!
Life's stronger far than your resolve,
    Its flow will not be dammed.
LOVE reigns;
    and you will not be free until you turn –
              meet and greet those lost ones –
                   shunned, despised, rejected ones,
                        foolish ones,
                             lonely, aching, wounded ones,
                                  hated ones.

All those on whom your judgment passed,
    sentence pronounced ("for life imprisoned"),
         are judged again.
A wiser judge than you could ever be
    would set them free, and MORE
it's YOU amends must make;
    YOURS the crime!
Go out and meet them.
    Prepare a banquet: 
         the lost would return.
Welcome them –
    and as you do,
         you'll find the Christ has slipped in too.
The loneliest, lowest, weakest
    are those most dear to God
whose blood with earth untimely mingled
    where the newborn child in a stable sheltered
         doors firmly shut
"No room at the Inn" their song,
    and you have sung it too –
         (no room for Christ to be born in you).

But just as long ago their cry
    could not hold back the Love
         that would pour forth,
TODAY the same Christ knocks at YOUR locked door.
And if you find that,
    still, you cannot make a place
         where that young babe may lay its head
              and rest in sweet embrace:
Love will not be stemmed –
    and in the least expected place
         you'll find the One who longs to set you free
              WAITING –
                   WAITING …