Darkness Silenced By Light

Shadows lurk in every corner.
They creep; they seek souls to devour.

A Bag Lady who sleeps in a cardboard box just down the street has eyes that always shine.

A banker passes her by everyday.
He never gives a glance as he makes his own way.

His eyes are dark,
His soul slick with Hell’s dirty grime.

It was a Friday as he made his merry way,
Past the penthouses and now unto the shadows of the sleeping day.

He passed the Bag Lady whose eyes doth shine.
For once now he looked her way.
Her hair was unkempt and he turned his gaze from her as one would when looking upon slime.

Three steps later he fell onto the street,
Clutching his chest, his Maker soon to meet.

Then arose the Bag Lady from her cardboard shack.
She hobbled toward the man with now dark and vacant eyes lying upon his back.

She knelt beside him laying a weather-worn cross upon his chest.
A chorus of angels began to sing, the old mission bell started to ring.
And the man whose eyes were once dark soon became light.

Now in a whisper the Bag Lady was gone.

The banker lived to see another day
But with a different sight and the scar of a cross upon his chest burned through into his bone.

J. Allen Wilson © 7/12/2014