Eye of the Needle

It could be found
Nowhere else,
What he was looking for.

The night before,
A candle stick,
Dripped down and over
a remnant of old ink,
Tucked away behind
comprehension.

Something shook
and scattered within his spirit,
A mouse scared and scampering,
scrapes of tiny nails
Against the harsh odds of varnish.

It had all seen the occasional
Better day.

Better years had yet to find their place,
yet cast your cares upon tomorrow
Remained stitched to a sampler
on his pillow.

As wicked wind approached
He missed his Momma sorely.
Her hands had been small,
And had known the way.
Every battle she had won,
Won in the name of Father
Holy Spirit
And the Son.

And He,
And He,
He felt a victory.

He began to sing:
Overcomer!
More than a conquer!
I'm a winner!
The Joy of the Lord is my strength
I have dominion,
And I walk in Authority.

In torrents
Came mastery.
And on his face spread,
a wry smile.
As understanding stretched through
and brightened eyes that had appeared dim a decade.

The thread had torn through
the impossibly small hole.
His hand me down rags
were ready to be hemmed.