It was a warm and gentle Sunday Morning
As the smell of fresh brewed coffee invaded my senses.
The hazy early morning light cast a soft shadow against
my living room wall, detailing dark picket fences.
Nevertheless, in an audible voice, I heard myself say,
“This will not be a typical Sunday.”
For I knew, there was more than the smell of coffee in the air.
It was a feeling of dread, as images of darkness flashed through my head.
Then sudden fear overwhelmed me, and move, I did not dare.
For the voices soon, permeated this small room,
And without haste, or care, they commanded me.
“ To your knees sad one, for you have met a poets doom”
Now on the floor I lay, as all thought of normalcy,
quickly passed away.
With all my might I wanted to stand, but back on the floor
I was quick to land.
The voices grew louder, and still louder, they roared.
“ Silent, be silent” I screamed, “be silent”
as I pulled myself along the floor.
A kaleidoscope of colors, danced wildly in my eyes,
while visions of legions torment rode dark whirlwinds in the sky.
All the while the voices kept screaming, “you are going to die”
Stop, oh stop, what torment can this be?
For I awoke this morning as usual, at peace, and care free.
Now, I feel that I may be mad
As I yank, viciously, at the remaining hair on my head.
Oh, Lord, I plea, why oh why, does this dark spirit asaileth me?
Lift the chains, oh Lord, set me free! Oh dear, God,
I cannot bear this calamity. Show me mercy, and forgive me.
Oh, Lord, I surrender all to Thee.
Then with a thunderous boom, all the dark voices fled the room.
I took in the silence with happy glee; but visions of light, did I still see.
However, the colors were no more. For all was arrayed in white,
As the Lord motioned to me.
“ Hither” I heard Him say, “you
are free at last, just as you prayed.”
“ Fear thou not, for tonight, you will sup with me.”
J. Allen Wilson © 2004