The Road To Damascus by Mark Spencer

Pauline was raised in Arkansas,
In Conway she was born.
To the strict farming family,
Of Jonathan Vanhorn.

Her father was a biased man,
Judgmental in his views.
But back in nineteen thirty eight,
That really wasn't news.

Pauline grew up just like her dad,
With judgment in her eyes.
Her prejudice and bigotry,
Came as no great surprise.

Disdain for those not like herself,
Influenced this motif.
She'd damn the soul who didn't share,
Her own Baptist beliefs.

One day some boys she knew from town,
Had cornered a black child.
They nearly beat the boy to death,
While she just stood and smiled.

For God, this was the final straw,
A point had to be made,
For each act of unrighteousness,
A penance would be paid.

So, on the road to Damascus,
A town in Arkansas,
Pauline was startled by a light,
It's the last thing she saw.

Within the light she heard a voice,
And felt the Lord's rebuke.
It happened as it did to Paul,
According to Saint Luke.

But Pauline's sight did not return,
She'd never see again.
This fate was retribution for
The person she had been.

At first, she cursed the name of God,
Self-pity fueled her wrath.
But time would teach her many things,
And help her find her path.

How sad that one must lose their eyes,
Before they truly see.
Or look beyond the flesh and bone,
At our true quality.

No more were people black or white,
For all skin felt the same.
You hear no color in a voice,
No difference in a name.

Without her eyes, she saw the soul,
Of everyone she met.
The lessons that it helped her learn,
Absolved her of her debt.

And when she saw the light again,
It was at heaven's door.
Her eyes were opened once again,
As they were years before.

And she could see the souls of those
Who helped her find her way.
Both black and white, Muslim and Jew,
They all gathered that day.

And Jesus stood at the threshold,
His face covered in tears.
He spread His arms and welcomed her,
Amid the sound of cheers.

"I'm pleased that you have found your way."
He said, as they embraced.
"This was a path, that with your eyes,
You never would have faced."

She said: "My eyes prevented me
From gaining my true sight;
A sight I found within my heart,
Born of your righteous light."

"So thank you Lord, for saving me
From my iniquity.
I doubt I would be standing here,
Had you not set me free."

Then Jesus took her by the hand,
And bade her: "Walk with me.
Beyond this door -- wonders await,
That I'd like you to see."

Wess (24.144.34.65) -- Friday, June 25 2010, 02:41 am

Wow!
This was amazing!

Bipedalguy (76.24.126.185) -- Friday, July 2 2010, 07:34 pm

"How do you do it?"
You never fail to astound me with your poetry which always seems to combine clever writing with a great message. I wish I could do it.

Mark Spencer (172.162.227.30) -- Tuesday, July 6 2010, 12:09 pm

Bipedalguy
You can! People have a tendency to force their will on a poem. Philosophically speaking, the poem already exists in another place and time, you only need to quiet your will long enough to listen. Let the poem's will have it's say, and you'll have your wish in no time.

Megan (166.205.138.137) -- Saturday, September 4 2010, 03:41 am

Wow! Beautiful poem!
Wow! Beautiful poem Mr. Spencer. What an inspirational story! I loved it!

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