Come Home

Number the buds on a sun-starved bough
wound tight and waiting to breathe
wrung in a shell of perpetual dusk
sealed with a frozen key.

The splintered shaft betrayed my Lord
who wore my darkest shame
hung bare upon His laden chest
as He gasped and sighed my name.

Hour by hour, the weight of His blood
dissolves my tattered pride
and kindles the shoots of newborn trust
that scatter by His side.

“My child”, He pleads, “Come shadow my steps
where shivers melt away.
The steady strains of home grow near.
Come rest, the price is paid.”