When we found faint spot of blood I feared the worst,
that before you were born we would lose our first.
With that one dark drop, all hope had been cursed.
I called up to God: “Lord, please hear me pray.
If you need blood, then that’s a price I’ll pay.
But Jesus, just please don’t take my son away!”
I danced with death, waited for God to play his part,
to take my life so that yours may yet still start.
My one true prayer hung heavy in my aching heart.
And so I prayed again but there was still no reply.
I called out: “Save my son! God, please hear me cry!”.
No matter how hard I tried, He wouldn’t let me die.
Time ticked torturous, tormenting with more blood.
It seemed all my prayers had been ignored by Good,
as first faint drop duplicated to form foul flood.
As God hadn’t heeded anything that I had said,
I sinfully said some prayer to the Devil instead.
“Devil drag me down! Come, strike me dead!
My soul shall be yours before this day is done!”
Take me down low, come have you fill of fun!
Do as you will but please Satan, save my son!
With that deal declared, again I placed myself in harm’s way,
prayed to the black and the white till they merged to grey.
Exposed my frail form for either one of them to flay.
I’m the guilty one – it should be me! I have no alibi!
Yet still there was no answer from the fire or the sky.
It seemed still I must go on living and you must die.
When you passed away I gently held her hand.
Outwardly still strong but couldn’t understand.
Nothing had happened the way we had planned.
And so it was that before you were even born,
Some dark doctor said: “Sorry. It’s time to mourn”
No words would console as no matter what they said,
I was still here and you were still dead.
“His mind may have been mental and his body not strong.
Would you really still want him if he had been wrong?”
“Perhaps you just weren’t ready to be parents tonight.
At your young age do you really think the time was right?”
At church that weekend I was met by a Righteous man.
Who told me your death “Was all a part of God’s plan”.
I looked at him with sad sore eyes burning bright with a fury so black.
Wanting to beat him down – instead left the Church and never went back.
First I was angry at God and then came the time to grieve.
Finally felt ready to let go but no more would I believe.
There is no holy Heaven above and below burns no Hell.
Still, after forever finally feel ready to say farewell.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.