Dark to light, Goth to Flower Child

I often dwell on the two paths that we're given in life; -God's path and the path to destruction. I'm always amazed that I was so divinely drawn to God since the first day that I ever heard a Bible study. I've always had a feeling when I heard records of Biblical accounts, that it pertained directly to me;- that it was as much a part of a glorious Bible story, as it was a part of my own history. That may not make much sense, but I'll try to put it into words as much as I can.
What follows is the path of a hopeless goth to a hopeful flower child. I'm hoping that this shows an exagerated distinction between the two paths in life. I want it to be exagerated because grey areas don't help us decifer anything if we have no grounds to decifer it with.

-Dark to light, Goth to Flower Child-

Shadow haunt my nightmarish dreams
of ghosts and death and evil things.
I wake to indeciferible screams.
I don't seem to know
how to get rid of this insanity
that seems to keep me bound
to it in consciousness and at night.
I hadn't depended on myself for everthing then,
but I'm sure that if I looked in a smokened mirror,
I'd only see a blur or distortion of me,
a smeared painting of what I could be.
....And then I found Jesus.
Happy years sound dear
now that I've come into
the flower patch.
Smiley faces get bright.
Light like lillies fill the sky above.
A bright day has come,
the crocodile smiles;
I see more of the Holy Spirits'
hand since the day I asked Him in.
poem de fin.

_Junk that should never happen_
A child in pain
with a hurt that
can't be contained.
whippings on his back
and shackled in chains.
What can be done in
a situation like this?
-Another to show agope love,
justice from above.
No more hurting,
it's got to end!

Praise be to God for all His sheltering. I don't have such an incredible testimony as this and I guess I could be a little more thankful for that fact, but it doesn't dismiss my short comings when I was without God. Even though I was young, I still though a lot of silly things... but that's a poem for another time.
Signing off,
~BJbear~