There was a shadowman
walking through a shadowland.
Tryin‘ to catch the moon with a rope,
couldn’t do it, thought that there was no hope
for him to get into the light,
and that he’d be damned to live in the night.
And he turned his hand into a fist,
but he found he couldn’t resist
this feeling of loneliness,
was convinced his life was a mess.
So he lost the grip of his soul.
It left his body and stole
itself away from this house of despair.
Soon it floated on thin waves of air.
And all of a sudden, the colours returned,
for which it had eternally yearned.
First came blue, and an ocean arose
from the depth of a place that nobody knows.
Then came red and green and gold,
drenched in light letting beauty unfold.
And clad in that light was a hand,
so enormous and mighty and grand,
and it caught the floating soul,
held it gently, made it whole
and sent it back again
into that once pitiful man.
He opened his eyes and he knew
that God’s promise of life was true.
(Copyright Ines Langs, June 19, 2012)