By J.D. Moss
He came with high hopes.
He came full of dreams.
He told his Father he’d make Him proud,
and he’d do it through any means.
But somehow he lost his will.
Somehow he seemed so weak.
Now at night he cries out loud,
While a vision of strength he seeks.
And he’s one more angel fallen to the ground.
One more angel lost in the crowd.
And he prays to God up above.
He begs forgiveness and asks for love.
Knowing he’s not the one.
No, not the perfect son.
He doesn’t think he’s evil.
But knows he’s not a saint.
The road he travels always curves,
although he wants it Straight.
Each day he looks for solid ground,
and hopes it’s not too late.
He prays his Father will make him strong,
So that he won’t stumble or faint.
And he’s one more angel fallen to the ground.
One more angel lost in the crowd.
And he prays to God up above.
He begs forgiveness and ask for love.
Knowing he’s not the one.
No, not the perfect son.
From “A Miracle in the Form of Love”
Copyright 1984 by J.D. Moss