A PRISON STORY

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Copper Bowl)

A story now I shall unfold

Of a struggle that came to grief.

A rebel with a heart of gold

Tripped up his fate and found no peace.

He often loved to talk and share

With all his friends in dialogue,

That in his soul he could not bear

The ruler, a cruel, tyrant dog.

But his plain words were overheard

By treacherous men of evil mind.

And soon with slander and a word

A spying trap was redesigned.

The man cried out his painful groan.

He spoke out words of fighting might.

But microphone records were blown,

And he knew nothing of his plight.

With heavy rage and brutal force

The tyrant chased him from that day.

And in a flash, his human course

Was covered in wormwood's decay.

Within the prison he was cast

Marked as a rebel of the state,

And with the others there at last

His heart was grieving for his fate.

A cellmate lived beside his bed –

A withered wretch with beard so white.

But in the fate that he was led

He became brother, father, light.

And just before he took his flight

To go to God’s sweet, heavenly floor,

He chose to share his wisdom's light

In one last Holy lesson more.

“Now listen to my words, my son,

Before my eyes forever close.

This prison time will soon be done

And memory will erase its woes.

A cunning man recorded you

And basely slandered all your art.

I know today you tremble through

And this oppresses your poor heart.

But let another record stay

Before you open and revealed.

For God puts conscience in our clay

To be a fierce, targeted shield.

It keeps a record of each deed,

Of hidden sins and spoken word.

An unseen judge above our breed,

When summoned by the Living Lord.

And sinners howl in hell's deep fire,

If in their life they did not try

To clear from conscience their desire –

The devil's wealth they lived to buy.

Fall on your knees in prayer now

For God to pardon your misdeed.

The soul will fly – we know not how –

To fall, or shine like holy seed…

From me, a wretch in heavy chain,

A blessing comes to you with love,

For just one drop of Blood is gain

For peace beneath God's tent above…”

The old man died, bent down and low,

Above his grieving son and brother.

But with his final, parting glow,

Grace came to wash the cells each other.

And in that bright and sacred space

The man felt Holy freedom far,

Along an unseen path of grace

Toward a bright, sweet Morning Star.