Folly breaks a man that runs his course without the hand of God his tester.
Then my vacant eyes reflect a pathogenic curse--a man of God turned jester.

"What's it all for?" I wail, with no one turned to hear it.
Where my desperate thrusts of pride mock my stunted spirit.

Now I'm on the main path--wet to the touch, subtly veering it's course.
Away from that familiar light, into tears of untold remorse.

As dusk commands the twilight, my hands cease to sow.
I can no longer distinguish friend from foe.

On my knees I reach to feel a crimson tide,
Rising to overcome the tears of the terrified.

What can this be that runs beneath sorrow's current--
Changing a tear's hue while reversing it's flow to a mighty torrent?

As Calvary's surge carries me away, I think my life a loss,
Until my soul washes ashore at the foot of the Cross.

Unwavering, does my Lord declare,
"Worthy are you created, with no need of repair"

So I rise with a passion, knowing what I am after--
The lighted path less chosen, of life, love and laughter.

By Joel McLin