by J.F. Pringle
I was dead: a rotting corpse in a sun-drenched land.
A heap of other dead men to my left, a pile of them to my right.
It was like a dream, as I sat in my decay and I wished to wake up.
But I had wandered into the void of endless night.
Hope was gone as a storm blew in; I waited to be swept away.
But a Voice came in the wind like a dove, and life within its wingspan.
I awoke, as if from a deep sleep, and breathed in newness.
I looked in the direction of the voice and there, a Man.
From afar He called out to me:
“My son…” It was like I was right there. He paused, smiling broadly.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love.”
He continued the Divine proclamation boldly, loudly.
I remembered the life I had lived before falling once and for all,
His voice was familiar; though the memory was faint, the light—dim.
And it came to me all at once like the colors of the dawn.
This whole time my life was kept and what I’d heard was Him.