Those prison walls

Those were not my prison walls I stood behind. 
They were for a doubter, a dreamer—a person I no longer wished to be. 
I watched them go up around me, not knowing what to do, not knowing I had a choice. 
I said, “I will not let these walls defeat me,” but did nothing to knock them down. 
Occasionally, I’d remove a brick for a better view of the beauty on the other side. 
Wisdom sang to me; freedom whispered—Spirit, God, called my name. 
I replied, “I’m coming; I just need more time; 
I’m coming, if I could only figure out how.”
There were nights I tried to fake my freedom, telling myself I had everything I needed. 
Then there were nights I felt defeated, when the walls looked bigger and I couldn’t hear wisdom.
So I gave up my own will. 
But with it quieting down, I began to hear the still, small voice of God. 
I knew the voice was strong. I knew the voice would lead me, would lift me to my freedom. 
It said to me, “Wait, and love more for every hate, and fear 
No ill,—since God is good, and loss is gain.”  

At first, I didn’t understand. How could love destroy these walls? 
That voice never got angry, though. It never declared, “You’re silly, you fool! Just listen to my voice.”

It simply said, “I love you, dear, and your freedom is My choice.”  

It told me that purity, innocence, and love were my greatest strengths. 
It showed the beauty all around me that before had gone unnoticed. 
The bricks never came crashing down; they just disappeared in the daylight, in the radiance of Truth. 

That voice led me to my freedom; it took away the walls.

I cried, “Thank you, Father-Mother; thank you for my freedom!” 

She sweetly whispered, “My child, you were never trapped at all.” 

Kelsey Lyon
1 Mary Baker Eddy, Poems, p. 4.

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