The Tent

I was born in the tent,

And told I was free,

To choose for myself,

Life… or captivity.

The tent is a covering,

Must stay and obey.

Beware, if head not,

A price I would pay.

So, life in the tent,

I accepted as true.

There’s nothing outside,

The walls, all I knew.

But the tent got small,

The taller I came,

‘Till I grew a great need,

To look past the frame.

That tent held tight,

To its stakes in the ground.

When one pulled up,

A crevasse I found.

Not sure was the tent,

Because in the abyss.

Due patterns of old,

There was much amiss.

Do I turn back to the tent,

And cover the hole?

Or into the distance,

Might I dare to stroll?

No longer the tent,

Seems safe and secure.

Though many its fruits,

Stem from knowledge pure.

Then I left the tent,

For myself to find,

No barrier built around,

Nor eyes that are blind.

Go visit the tent,

I can worship there,

But it holds no more,

Single truth to bear.

I’ve left the tent,

For the wilderness roam.

Not forsaken or lost,

But for creation’s home.

The sky now my covering,

And in it dwell,

Elements of certainty,

God’s story to tell.

Amen.