The Narrow Path by Rosalie Contrite
A pounding rhythm in my ear,
I cannot quell nor find escape.
The pain of love, given with no fear
Thrown. Discarded. Mouth a gape.
Alone and weeping bruised and beaten
It is the truth that I await,
Hoping. Weeping. Backbitten.
This path unjust, is still my fate.
The creaking moaning of the door
The door which I must seal again,
From lies and judgement and still more
It’s stings. It wounds but fails to end.
Untruths believed, accumulate.
From this, no way I can defend
Condemned I am, eviscerate
Good riddance to me, not a friend
And so it is and must be
The suffering that made me see
Above the Master
I cannot be.
Bring pain and hatred only faster
Falsely accused, hang on a tree.
For it is with Christ I find myself,
The sevant’s Master comforts me.
The treasure of favor, poor or wealth
In the end we all must see.
You cannot lose what you do not possess.
You cannot have grief and shocked surprise.
The road is narrow and pain excess.
But conquer death and truly rise.
Our King did show us, acceptant,
The wounded road which rips your soul
Is ours to walk; it is extant.
And rejoice for He who will console
And never abandon and never hate
A beloved daughter full of sorrow,
Whose faith alone won’t abrogate
The bleeding wounds she has to borrow.
For innocents too, there is no esteem.
A weighted cross, a jeering crowd,
This is the way
He did redeem.
In fervent prayer, I cry aloud
Falling, crying, and still so proud.
I do resent my cup not passed.
I must endure the scourge and wounds.
But, now, I see it well at last.
This is the way, the Narrow Path.
Because of Him whom I did choose,
That I must not be
Afraid to lose.