Curtisj Johnson

Six Months In 1992 - Poem by Curtisj Johnson

By Curtis Johnson

I did not know then whether or not it was a very good year, a bad one, or even something in between.
Though the people, place, and time were different, it was rather clear to me, that this picture I had seen.

The year before had ended on a sour note. There were problems both personal and political. There was a clash of wills and the clouding of a vision; but all concerned were given an indication that there was hope. The sun was going to shine again, but not for a while; the moon would brighten and the stars would light up the night again, but it was going to take some time.

There were years of pain when no one gained, as polluted and toxic relations persisted; but now the dogs had begun to bark, and the air grew less divine

There were those who had dreams and visions, and others tossing and turning in nightmares. We smiled through our infrequent dreams; We planned out our visions, and sweated in our nightmares; and when the dogs kept barking, no one slept.

At this juncture of man made messes, it seemed the sun stood still, the moon did not speak, and the stars began to fall.
This internal and civil wound was deep and cancerous, requiring without hesitation or stall, for everyone, to bow on our knees, and upon God to call.

Before we could be kissed by the sun, we had to be spanked by the moon, and the rain of tears had to pour. Too much neglect, too many stones left unturned, too many diseases not treated; we were sick to the very core. The entire body was dramatically and sourly impacted. The head had to be severed, so that the body could survive.
The head was a spiritual leader who was out of control; the body was a church slowly dying deep inside.

In time, the dogs of denials were treated. The sun did shine; the moon lit up the night, and the bright stars reappeared from their hiding place. In time, we accepted the bitter healing pill that was mixed with unsweetened water. We needed this for our hurting souls, to bring out a smiling face. The pastor moved on; the church is now alive, vibrant, and strong. There are new people, new leaders, new visions, and a fine new pastor. There was a dying of the old in 1992; there was a freshness with the new. Yes,1992 was a very bad year, and yes, a very good year. cj011208

Topic(s) of this poem: leadership, renewed hope

Form: Narrative

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, November 25, 2015

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