The Storm Rider

By Andrew R. Duckworth

He was a young man
With a wild heart,
Some heat within his veins.
And behind the wheel
Were the fierce eyes of the lion,
Behind dark lenses.
He knew that if he accepted,
He would be uprooted from the weeds
And planted among the roses
Where the thorns might stick.
And a storm was up ahead,
Darkened sky and flashes high,
And the roar of a beast unseen.
But that wild heart yearned
To prove itself a force.
And that young man slammed
His foot upon the pedal.
He drove up to that storm,
And as that beast’s eyes flashed,
That wild heart began to cower.
The beast belched a gravelly laugh,
But the man did what he could,
And accepted a Truth established
Since the founding of the world,
Since the founding of time,
And he became uprooted
From the weeds.
He was planted among the roses
Where the thorns might stick.
But with each thorn sting,
That wild heart became tame.
And the beast fell from the clouds
Like an angel fallen from Heaven
And cratered the ground.
That new heart took a whip
And whipped the beast to Hell
With the mention of the most
Holy of names.
That young man rode the storm,
Absorbed the lightning,
Endured the thunder,
And not a scratch came upon him.