On My Way Home

I can feel Van Gogh’s pain his misery His need to be loved and yet create chaos To chase love away to be left in pain and self-pity I don’t know why I am like the way I am A painting on a canvass with strokes that constantly collide If I said I lived a sinless life I’d be lying Death circles around me like a predator It is restless But I have hope My fiery imagination lives by faith it has too On the third morning an empty tomb recently occupied now angels sitting greeting visitors Jacob camped with angels like old friends Elijah was touched by an angel not once but twice Perhaps I shook hands with an angel my soul knew The tomb was empty thank God On my way home I wander away like a child but the Shepherd comes looking for me finds me and carries me on His shoulders like he would a lamb back home Frank Black Blacharczyk