Used by permission, copyright /RED EDGE IMAGES
He walked into my classroom, poetry in hand, with his tormented eyes, spiked, black-dyed hair, black trench-coat over black shirt and pants, hiding a disturbing array of silver spikes and chains. He was a brilliant high school student in my multi-media computer class in San Jacinto, CA., in the fall ’99. And his notebook was was full of anguish, torture and murder. I had thought we could connect over a shared interest in poetry, so I asked him to bring some of his work. I was to read some of his poems and respond with one of my own. The italicized lines below was my response and “The Challenge” tells the story…
The Challenge
He was Goth…poet-genius of despair, speaking anguish and death,
Exalting bitterness through the cosmic eyes of a child.
He spoke in poetry.
And I, using his language of torment, answered …
You felt the warm color fade from your eyes.
You saw the rose melt.
You said love had died.
The empty space child consuming your mind,
Savage sensations…
United in sorrow.
Hate overflowing, consuming tomorrow.
Trapped by believing, as the little child cried,
Yet unaware…
That the little child lied.
I returned his tortured verses …
Answer shrouded in hope.
But he read my answer, and ran, with a furtive glance…
Through eyes, clouded in confusion and fear…eyes I was seeing for the last time.
Time passed, the end had come.
Goth was dead.
The demon child banished.
The poet-genius of despair…
Stood before me…radiant with life, resurrected in hope
Rose reborn and alive with love
A newborn child of the Truth …
Set free. Born of the answer far beyond the scope of my words.
Leaving me with joy… and hope that I played a part.
……………….
He had come back to visit me in the spring and I didn’t recognize him at first. The black and the spikes were gone. He wore his natural brown hair, radiant eyes and a smile. He said he had found freedom in Christ and he glowed with transformation.
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