God’s child is sleeping,
long and soft,
with tumbled dreams and visions.

Troubled fits of 
tempests tossed,
caused by one decision.

To separate 
from Heaven-home,
to hide in a sin-filled body.

And strike out singly
on his own,
so grandiose in folly. 

So God’s child sleeps 
in exile’s land,
with clouds of dark illusion.

In pain, and loss, 
alone, and lost,
mired in sad confusion.

And walk this world,
this man-made hell,
God’s child will continue.

Searching for 
what can’t be found
in flesh and bone and sinew.

Until he’s finally had enough
and cries out 
for salvation.

And finds but joy
inside himself,
despite his own damnation.

Then heaven’s host,
and angels, all,
will gently touch and wake him.

Home at last
though drowsy still,
God’s sleeping child awakens.