Price of Salvation

Peace marooned a poet
On an isle of calm.
Far were the waves now
Steady was his palm.
No sharks were chasing,
No sneering pirate crew,
No ragged rocks to dodge,
No hungry birds to shoo.
No pain to make words with,
No tumble in his soul,
He sat there, under stars,
Feeling truly whole.

He smiled for a second,
Watching his relief,
Then frowned for a minute,
Catching disbelief.
Wasn’t he for sure
Beyond salvation all?
How did this happen?
Who heard his call?
Is God really real?
Or is Fate at a trick?
Saved from the oceans
Just to make him sick?
He tore off his clothes,
Looked close at his skin.
No rash, no wound, no pus,
No swelling from within.
If he was saved from doom
For no apparent price,
Will the Devil come
With a plan to entice?
Will he have to pay
Something he held dear?
The more it seemed true,
The more grew his fear.

For forty nights and days,
He lived on high alert.
Will fish become poison,
His nose fill with dirt?
Will sands sink below
To bury him dead?
Or will a falling coconut
Split open his head?
Yet, nothing really happened,
Everything was quiet.
Still, our poet was certain
Something’s not alright.
He raged at the calm,
Couldn’t stand the serene.
Laughing wild in horror,
Dashed through the green.
For the rest of his time,
He stayed on this run,
Saw pus in ocean froth,
Blood in setting sun.
Every time he caught
The Devil in disguise,
Every time he wondered
What would be the price.

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