By Drew Smith
Wasn’t for spite. Wasn’t to be the hero. It just came to him. From birth you could tell he was misplaced. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t meant to feel this pain. He shouldn’t have to watch these people lie, manipulate, steal from, take advantage of, Hurt or Kill each other.
What the hell kinda place is this? Watch money become more important than life. Watch the T.V. tell them it was okay to be this way. Watch them become obese whilst consuming, consuming, consuming. Anything they get their hands on turns into MINE. Getaway. Give me yours.
And there aren’t any decent people left. Records show the last one died 81 years ago. The same day was born the one who Brought the World Back.
Through childhood troubled, picked on, and abused. And it made him stronger. Through adolescence tortured, alone and starving. And it made him think. Through adulthood grieving, lost and broken. And it made him hopeful. Now frayed, hopeless and fearful. 81 Years of a most unfortunate life.
With only one thing left to do. He raised his cane and struck it to the ground. While in the most compassionate voice he whispered, “Mother, let me in.” He fell into her arms, past time and beyond.
As a new piece to the earth, as sprouts a new tree. We are captured in our faith when surrounded by our Mother’s beauty. When we sit to the tree in grass high as knee, we hear the compassionate whisper, “Don’t forget me.”
I look to you all. From me you see. The most thankful tear this boy will ever weep. Down my face, it falls to the ground and with a hug to the tree. For there in my silence, I made my own special pact. With the one who brought the world back.