Once upon a time, there was a young boy whose name was… well, let’s see.
To protect the innocent, we’ll address young Kenn discreet and anonymously.
So this shy, young boy who lacked no love, grew up in a loveless town.
Shy though spry with a detailed eye his imagination knew no bounds.
Then teenage years and the furlough of tears and more than his share of rage,
Young Boy departed from Nadine and pristine to work where sin offered wage.
Of Shakespearean tragedy or a life less than raggedy, Boy succumbed to be spent.
Not Allah nor Buddha nor Vishnu nor Gouda could clarify at all what it meant.
Near ending his zeal, Boy cried to the ceiling for a purpose or some hint of reason.
Then a fit of pure Grace and a Love apt for lace gave fruit to seeds planted out of season.
Intellectually revealed, God showed Boy His will and how Yahweh was more than a cross
How He suffered then died and is now living inside and with Spirit he’d never be lost.
Hallelujahs and praise and bent knees for days and walking together in the rain.
Then sudden or slow or how I don’t know, but Boy experienced a dim change.
Boy didn’t call half as much or want to be touched or trust that God could allay his fear
And the forbidden thought of taking hold of another came close where it never came near.
Duplicitous and ambiguous and suddenly conspicuous, this accord an inconsistent haze
No engrossed studying His missives or echoes of praise or covenant of sun-filled days.
Who was this boy? This Jekyll and Hyde? This Yahweh on his skin yet someone else inside?
Mirror mirror on the wall, please do confide. He’s not Clark Kent so one of them must die
I… no, he… no, Boy… no… you see… this story, my story, like rain… grace and peace
Forgiveness and a funeral dirge have become this boy’s recurring theme. Continued to be.