The Thorn

When I was born In my side there was a thorn, It gave me a reason to hate To me there was no debate. The doctor called it a birth defect As I think back and reflect, And that thorn gave me such sever pain As if I were going insane. If you didn't believe or think like me Red is what I felt and all that I did see, If we didn't have the same colored skin In you I saw and felt violence and sin. If you were needy and/ or poor The pain would pulsate to my core, And if you were an immigrant From pain and suffering I would grunt. I then began to pray As I then did every night and day, I prayed only for my suffering and anguish In which I did languish. The thorn and the pain was still there I guess unheard was my prayer, I sorely wanted the thorn removed And I wanted the removal approved. I screamed and begged in agony one night Then I finally saw the light, From the pain that I gave others and had felt Unto my knees I finally knelt. They placed the crown of thorns on his head As he suffered until he was dead, Then I understood why he suffered and was crucified The thorn was then removed from my side. Randy L. McClave