The Prisoner

My Christian Walk

Here I am in the dark, bound hand and foot,

Helpless to choose my fate or even make a decision,

Like a chicken, trussed and bound for the oven,

Or a prisoner of war, disarmed, crushed.


Or like a sacrificial victim stretched out on the altar,

Waiting for the final anticipated blow.

With no power to resist, no voice to complain,

Was it for this that Jesus died?


Or like a helpless chrysalis tagged to a branch

And shaking to the violence of the wind,

Without shelter or hope or security.

“I would rather be a caterpillar!”


Then out of the darkness cries a Voice.

"I desire life and not sacrifice!"

And out of the wind comes a crack, a tearing

Until the chrysalis rips open.


And out crawls a crushed folded creature,

Which stretches in the breeze, inflates

Wide rainbow wings and leaps into limitless light.

The power on the inside always bursts external bonds!

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