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The Grieving Father

My soul was wrung like a rag, then hung
In a winter’s night to chill;
I continued to cry when the tears ran dry
And my heart is frozen still.

My son is gone, death stilled his song,
My mind is in a twist;
I grasp the sod as I kneel to God
And pray that He exists!

How I plead, for I so need
To know His promise real,
That death’s harsh sting becomes a thing
The mourner needn’t feel.

I flex my will, “Oh mind, be still;
Oh heart, please open wide!
For reason fails, but truth prevails
As the Spirit works inside.”

My exhausted soul, like a dusty hole,
Feels springlets burst within;
The Spirit speaks and soon my cheeks
Are moist with tears again.

Tears of joy! I feel my boy
Is gone from but my sight!
He LIVES today, in truth I say,
By God, I KNOW it’s right!

Now photographs of times and laughs,
But later, face to face;
Come soon, come late, I’ll have to wait,
But, oh, how we’ll embrace!

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.

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