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The Chase

The Chase

It hurt, the pierce of that arrow. Yet not a pain of the flesh.
Not because the pierce itself hurt, but after.
Failure, my failure. Failure of this flesh.
It hurts, because it hurts Him.
It hurt Him, in His flesh.

Pain.

And though it hurt like the fires of Hell,
I know that there is more, more than this pain.
Little by little I lift myself, but it’s not me, it’s Him.
It’s Him that lifts me from the floor of this world of flesh.

And yet, after the arrow that pierced that side, I fled.
Down wide alley ways, across the open parking lots,
lots looking up towards the lightly polluted night sky,
the smell of the freshly laid asphalt stirred by the trampling of feet.

What a feat! He, chased me.
As if I was something, something that He
Saw a value in. That Hound of Heaven,
That natural runner. He chased me.

Down wide alley ways, across the open parking lots,
lots looking up, up towards the lightly polluted night sky;
finding our way home,
just as the Sun was washing out the fear of night.

The early morning dew,
washing out the crimson pain of that arrow that pierced that Blessed Side.

It’s a wound I sought healing for, because I could not heal myself.
I sought it in wide alley ways, I sought it in open parking lots, I sought it everywhere;
And yet, He sought me. Sought me, and found me, again, and again, and again.

Published inPoetry