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Was he an angel?
Sometimes the young can end up in a terrible
Place. No job, no work, no money. When small
Things become big things and the world becomes
A frighteningly lonely place. I too once felt the sting
Of youth and I can confirm it is not a nice place
To be nor to linger.
Bad times give rise to dreams and dreams often
Give rise to truth and in my case I dreamt that I
Dwelled in a dark place of little sun and little light.
I remember there being a lot of wreckage around
And wondering further I came upon a high brick
Wall unscalable or so it seemed, until I came upon
A ladder, placing it against the wall I climbed until
I could see over the wall and there on the other
Side of the wall was a place of wonder, of bright
sunlight, blue sky, flowers and a lush green
Meadow as far as the eye could see.
The next day I felt compelled to visit my old
Church St John the Evangelist. I couldn't get
In at first, modern church practise is to lock the
Doors, but calling at the rectory I soon found
Myself sat in the same pew I had so often sat
In as a younger man. I think the vicar must
Have thought me mad wanting to sit in a cold
Empty church on a weekday when most guys
My age were hard at work
I sat for a while and bowing my head more in
Shame than anything else, when suddenly I
Both saw and felt a figure in white standing
Behind me. I felt neither alarm nor fear, an
Angel perhaps, but no, more significant than
that if I may out it that way. I have always
Thought it was Christ, tall, bronzed and with a
Beard, he smiled and put his left hand on my
Left shoulder resting it there in a warm and
Most comforting fashion. How long his hand
Remained I don’t know, but I do know that a
Transforming wave ran through me, a heavenly
Fringe field, a strange overwhelming sensation
That at the same time proved very welcome, a
renewing force, an electric charge of ambition...
When I finally left the church a different young
Man walked out into the sunlight. A young man
Who found his ladder, climbed his wall and grew
Up to be me.
I can honestly say, that whilst I do not pretend to
Understand these things, I have never looked
Back, nor will I ever forget the dream that led
Me to the church, that led me to a moment of
Love I will cherish forever, even if, for some,
And there are many, it was perhaps the work
Of a young poets mind.
© Joseph G Dawson