On My Way Home
I can feel Van Gogh’s pain his misery
His need to be loved and yet create chaos
To chase love away to be left in pain and self-pity
I don’t know why I am like the way I am
A painting on a canvass
with strokes that constantly collide
If I said I lived a sinless life I’d be lying I need forgiveness
Death circles around me like a predator
It is restless but I have hope
My fiery imagination lives by faith it has too
Hope sees the third morning an empty tomb
recently occupied now angels sitting greeting visitors
Jacob camped with angels like old friends
Elijah was touched by an angel not once but twice
Perhaps I shook hands with an angel my soul knew
The tomb was empty thank God
On my way home I wandered away like a child
but the Shepherd came looking for me
found me and carried me on His shoulders
like He would a lamb going home
Frank Black Blacharczyk
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