The Reckoning
The
father stood with face of stone,
And waited till his child came home.
Then sternly faced his drunken son,
And handed him a loaded gun.
And in the father’s eyes were tears
That he had hidden many years.
Then straining hard to make a sound,
He bade his youngest son, “sit down”.
“My
son,” he said, “beyond that wall
You’ll find the fairest one of all.
Tonight she tossed in troubled sleep,
And prayed the lord your soul to keep.
And I will stand no longer by
And watch your mother slowly die.
I will not look the other way,
While she dies slowly day by day.”
“There
was a time your mother smiled,
When you were then her precious child;
And she did dare to dream and hope---
You crushed that dream with booze and dope.
So now I beg you take the gun,
And through that door go to the one
Who lies there sleeping on her bed,
And place it to her sacred head.”
“If by your conduct this must be,
Then let it happen suddenly.
Take now her life and do not flinch,
But quickly son.. not inch by inch.
Why should she have to suffer so,
And lie awake at night and know
That somewhere on life’s angry sea
You revel in iniquity?”
The gun
then clattered to the floor,
And woke that one behind the door;
And then a mother’s smiling face
Beheld the glory of god’s grace.
And god did move in such a way,
That just before the light of day
A child was born upon the floor…
The same child she had borne before.
From his book Man On The Mountain