The Prisoner in His Cell
The Spirit sighed
When you were born
And loved you even then
It watched you as
A little child
Playing with your toys
And wasn’t blind
To your surprise
When you received those blows
Then the Spirit
Wailed like you
When you found they didn’t care
And through the years
What cost Him most
Was when your heart turned black as theirs
With a holy fist
He beat the ground
When all belief in you lay dead-
Now the Spirit sits beside you
In your cell
And waits for your consent-
To take you by the hand,
This Easter Season,
And give you freedom and joy and Life again.
Michele Marie
