Fugitive

Oh Lord,
the pain.

I,
a creature of darkness,
am dying
shriveling in the heat of the sun.

The light burns
and chars
my pale, useless
blind eyes.

I scrabble frantically
in the light and heat.

I twist and crawl,
writhing in my grotesque ballet of agony.

I am dying.
and must hide.

…..sorry, Lord….
but where can I flee your presence?
(I’m not the first to ask)

The agony,

writhing, dancing agony
never ends

until

crazed with pain,
I forget,

abandon,

and run,

arms thrown wide

straight into the Son.