PASTOR’S KID.

In the church’s shadow, I was the pastor’s child,

In the pews, my secrets quietly compiled.

With a gentle hush, my lips were sealed,

Amidst childhood’s traumas, my heart concealed.

In Sunday’s grace, we all would pray,

But I carried burdens day by day.

The mask I wore, so tightly sealed,

Hid the wounds that refused to be healed.

The congregation, they never knew,

The pain that in my young heart grew.

“My lips are sealed,” I’d always say,

As I walked in the narrow, righteous way.

The Bible’s verses, the songs we’d sing,

Could not mend the hurt that stung.

Yet in the chapel’s quiet grace,

I sought solace for the tears I’d face.

With every “Amen” and “Hallelujah” cried,

I buried the scars deep inside.

But in the chapel’s gentle light,

I yearned to heal, to take my flight.

One day, with courage, I dared to speak,

To unseal the words, I’d hidden for weeks.

My father’s love, like a guiding hand,

Helped me find strength to understand.

“My lips are sealed” no longer held sway,

For healing came in a brand-new way.

In faith and love, we found our place,

In God’s embrace, His endless grace.

The traumas of youth, like shadows, fade,

As I walk a path of love, not afraid.

No longer bound by the secrets concealed,

In faith and truth, my heart is healed.

By Walking Shadow Poetry Kenya.