Morning Breaks

The boy dreams
of two preachers crying
from high pulpits: Choose!
Pick a side or be damned.

He wrestles,
tries to pray but lips freeze,
heart twists, spirit wrings
out: Deliver me!

Then light, focused
into solid beam
sure as iron rod or nail
hammered home,

pierces the tumult:
Hear Him.

The boy awakes
on his back, staring
into heaven past the first
light of dawn.

• Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry

• Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com