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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade, The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock. Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following the Lamb within me. The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber, swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg, Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book. I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears, I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear. The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me and the rest of the chosen tribe. Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains. Never had I felt grace like this before. We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes We arose, and our trials we must undergo. Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the wood bashing between our bitten legs. The kindling was wet, the bread was stale, forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed in front of my eager eyes. Memorize second Corinthians, some stories I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck. The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants that worshiped the King amongst kings. The counselor crept out of the brush, and with immense embarrassment I flushed any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few. I could not immerse myself within the verses. His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut, his knife drawn I knew I was cut. The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape. My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end I didn’t care. I didn’t care. I didn’t care. I descended from the shining hill, back to the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed. There is a creek I will never wade, never cross, I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost. Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
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