Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright
By Rusty Wright
(With apologies to William Blake)
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
Driving from your home that night
Was it fate or destiny
That made you crash your SUV?
Pain and fear took hold, no doubt.
You’ve worked so hard to shut folks out:
“We’ll be just fine; please go away!
I’ve nothing to declare today.”
Yet, soon a paramour appeared
Confessing much. The people leered.
Her pix and tales became the rage.
The tube and web consumed our gaze.
Mags and tabloids told us more:
Voice mail, text and babes galore.
It seems the family man has strayed
And needs a break to mend his ways.
Ah, well and good. May he succeed.
For which of us is without need
Of honest heart and room to heal
From our own flaws or misplaced zeal?
Wins on links and cash and fame
Are nice, but not what solves life’s game.
Spouse and kids and friends count, too,
As does the One, the poet knew.
This poet wrote to Tiger … and me:
“Did He who made the lamb make thee?”
The lamb’s creator himself came
To calm our fears and take our blame.
“He is meek, and he is mild;
He became a little child.”
Child to boy, then boy to man,
He claimed to be the great “I Am.”
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forests of your night,
There’s hope for you and all who see
That he who made the Lamb loves thee.
* * *
Rusty Wright is an author and lecturer who has spoken on six continents. He holds Bachelor of Science (psychology) and Master of Theology degrees from Duke and Oxford universities, respectively. www.RustyWright.com
Copyright © 2009 Rusty Wright