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About the Poem

I had a very spiritual/symbolic day, which also proved to be quite stressful. I felt judged, ridiculed and not too well accepted by society. As I was quite feverish, I tried to dismiss my feelings and get some rest. But that didn't happen. About 1:30am a spring broke through my mattress and scratched my leg. I was immediately irritated again by the seeming degradation of the world and my mind could not rest concerning the matter.

After expressing my dilemma through the following poem, I learned a valuable lesson through a series of events. To summarize the lesson in the words of Michael Lee Donovon: "I hope that God gives me just one feather in each wing, I don't want the whole set, so I can fly just high enough to sing the blues for my Savior Jesus Christ". Thanks for your input and consideration.

The Question Mark

What do I feel
In this mortal vest?
What, must I steal
To enable my rest?

For, deeply I hurt.
Sincerely. I guess.
Don't wanna' seem curt;
But, sinners at best

Would be the type I've seen;
Would describe the disregard
Given by the sheen
On that rotting, stinking lard

That I've been asked to love;
A heartless, fruitless beast.
Then, maybe, sure a shove
Is needed in the least

To wake the tortured torturers
Surrounding me, they think.
Elijah, too, seemed sure to lure
Destruction at his feet.

Then the fire felt in his heart
Called down to those below,
Their witchcraft, idolatry and sorcery marked,
As the gifted bestowed,

Or maybe proved to all those below,
To walk the path they speak.
The clattering jaws of men will sow
Exactly what they reap.

The poignant proof proved best by me
And now I surely know
That what the Lord blessed me to see
Is true to those below.

Who seen or seeing choose not to see?
Or, maybe somehow can't.
A leper, dead, dying, only needs
The solemnity of this rant.

Or wouldn't One just tell the whole
and prove to them, for sure,
These things are true - free from the mold;
These things are surely pure.

What things? The marked. O' blind ones see!
The mark chosen deft herein
To blind the blind and set them free.
Our merciful God again!

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© 1999 John Dawson Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.

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