Years ago, an avenging angel
filled with guilt made me a victim.
I paid for the sins of my father.
Caught in the crossfire, I suffered
the loss of thirteen years of love and faith,
his sacrificial lamb.
There was a time when I believed, in Him.
My roots were planted deep,
but then the poison touched the tips
and doubt seeped through my veins
like an intravenous drip.
Now, my choir voice
will try to sing a childhood hymn,
words are dimmed by the space of time.
But when I sit before the baby grand,
music book in hand and select a piece to play,
place my fingers on the ivory keys,
the tempo builds and reaches deep inside,
Faith comes back to me.