God’s Home

By Christopher Towsley

 

I was looking at a long road

well after dark.

I had gotten it out of drive,

now couldn’t find park.

I got out on the shoulder,

but I didn’t feel alone.

All I had to do was think

about God’s Home.

 

Image: 'Lonely Road' by Alison Cornford-Matheson

More people tend to call things theirs,

when His, is what they are.

Some others fly clear out of sight,

like a shooting star.

I can’t begin to understand,

My sins He could atone.

But I think I might,

on a road at night,

outside God’s Home.



I too have quickly turned My head,

and out the corner of My eye,

I thought I might have seen Him,

as He hurried by.

In fact I’m almost certain,

that the ending to My roam,

halted abrupt

when I re-upped

at God’s Home.

 

It seems I am no stranger

to a low and wicked shot.

But above it all,

I hear the call,

to remember what I’ve got.

And as I get older,

seems like over My shoulder,

a familiar comforting tone,

seems to fill the air,

with the need to care,

about God’s Home.



I know about this feeling

for I know You feel it too.

And We shouldn’t feel like many

but a few.

And although the numbers vary,

We are all in fact His clone.

And He wants Us to sit,

together, in it.

Inside God’s Home.

 

And tonight I may be standing,

on a lonely desolate road.

With nothing but that feeling,

shoulders squared to the load.

My apparel might be threadbare,

I could be weary to the bone.

But I know inside,

I will get a ride,

back to God’s Home.

 

By Christopher Towsley, 2011

 


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