NOT UNDER BUSHEL

In innocent blemish,
Was I conceived and born,
To run a race of three-score and ten,
In a dingy and unwholesome world as this,
Where purity has lost its place,
And vanity's scepter, held up high.

With no guidance or discipline to uphold,
Soon my innocence was ruptured,
And corrupted, my blemish magnified;
As the subtle seduction so served,
Was irresistible to my wanting self,
In a world where perverts had the play.

Of boozing, I had my qualifications;
The shameless whore, my bed befriended;
I dined and wined on the gambling table;
And the deadly pistol, my only true friend.
Reverence I thought I received,
When all men shuddered at my behest.

Alas, my soul grumbled from within.
I made way to meet up with my inner man:
So entrapped, so emasculated, he was within.
There was truly no peace within,
And joy could only be part of my day dream.

My soul yearned for completeness,
Joy and peace unspoken,
A life beyond this world, yes eternal!
Then I met my saviour and the light to my path.
Now I'm saved and have it bright:
The wholesome light that cast out darkness.

Shall I hide it under bushel or let it shine?
Nay! Upon a torch I shall have it lit,
And send it in to those I left behind,
Not dreading their scorn or sour reproach.
I shall be the light to them that grope in darkness.
Not under bushel, but on a candlestick up high!

(my inspiration:Matthew 5:14)

.....Priscenyo