The Cost of Love

The Price of One Soul 

When Adam and Eve sinned in the garden,
what would we have done?
How would we have reacted?

It would have been easy
to destroy them
and wipe the slate clean.

Easy
to begin again.

The earth already formed,
the heavens stretched out,
the animals created,
the garden planted.

Simply mark it down
as failed experiment number one
and move on to number two.

You say,
“But that would mean
the loss of more than eight billion people.”

No.

That day,
it was only two people
with the potential
of billions more.

A second beginning
could have carried
the same possibility.

And we know ourselves 

well enough to admit
we would scarcely hesitate.

But love—
so great a love—
would not start over.

Instead,
God set redemption into motion.

Blood was shed
to cover shame in the garden,
a covering that pointed forward
through generations,
toward another hill,
another sacrifice,
another shedding of blood—

Calvary.

He formed that hill 

knowing what wood 

would stand upon it 

Before man 

ever reached for 

the forbidden tree 

God 

has already seen 

another tree 

The value of a soul
is measured by the distance
heaven was willing to travel
to redeem it.

The value—

of your soul 

And so great a love 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

May 14, 2026 

The Cost of Missed Connections

The Price of Procrastination

The thoughts are continuous 

All the time, they are coming 

Some are life-changing

earth-shattering

windows-rattling

trains of thought 

Others are innocuous 

just time-fillers

Some fly by

Some linger 

just long enough 

to become 

something more 

And sometimes we wait—

And the thought 

slips from our minds 

because we dilly dally 

It leaves the image

of what we missed 

as a shadow out of sorts 

a reminder 

a nagging shape 

of something missed. 

The cost of missed connections 

The price of procrastination 

As with most procrastinating 

there is no real reason

no compelling excuse 

We simply allowed 

the muse to escape 

undocumented 

It’s late 

It’s early 

I’m busy 

I’m trying to sleep 

All compelling deterrents 

Still— 

The shadow mocks 

the mind seeks for it 

that missed connection

Perhaps it was a word 

or a hidden connection 

There it was before me 

two ideas 

suddenly intricately woven—

and then

gone 

Elusive 

skittering away 

Damn

I’m old 

Thoughts don’t stay 

Whatever 

It was there

begging for recognition 

begging for witness—

But 

I was too hurried to honor it 

Until it was gone 

Then the agony 

It’s like chasing butterflies 

Perhaps this is the agony—

believing the words belonged to me 

when I was only ever 

their conduit 

The muse is not obligated 

to wait for us 

We are servants to the muse—

not the other way around 

Now—

I have written the idea 

captured the basics 

Now go away 

Let me sleep 

Let me work 

In peace 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

May 6, 2026 

The Cost of Small Permissions

The Price of Justifications 

And still—

I call it uninvited. 

Uninvited, 

a small kitten approached my door.

Ignorantly,

I offered a single bowl of milk

Unexpectedly,

the kitten stayed.

Reluctantly,

I became its keeper.

Uninvited,

a seed of discontent brushed my heart. 

Ignorantly, 

I gave it space to settle. 

Unexpectedly, 

it rooted.  

Reluctantly, 

I let it remain. 

Uninvited, 

the vines threaded through my thoughts. 

Ignorantly, 

I listened. 

Unexpectedly, 

I echoed. 

Reluctantly—

or so I told myself—

I fostered it.

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

April 30, 2026

The Cost of Completion

The Price of the Seventh Step

The walls had stood
long before we arrived

unbothered by time
untouched by effort
unmoved by intent

they knew nothing
of surrender

only standing

And somewhere else—
a man carried a sentence
in his skin

Naaman
clothed in authority
but marked
by what would not leave

he was told—
wash

not once
but seven

in waters
beneath his dignity

We were told—
walk

not once
but again
and again

around a city
that did not care
that we had arrived

Jericho
shut tight
confident
certain

Dip one—
nothing

Step one—
nothing

Dip two—
still there

Step two—
still standing

By the third
the question forms

By the fourth
it speaks

By the fifth
it grows bold

this is foolish

this is empty

this is not how
things change

Six dips
bear witness

six days
testify

nothing yields
this way

but obedience
does not measure
effectiveness

it measures
completion

the seventh
is not special
because it is different

it is special
because it is finished

he went under
as a leper

and broke the surface
whole

we walked
as witnesses
to something that would not fall

and shouted
as those
who had already been heard

and what had never yielded
did

not to strength
not to reason
not to force

but to fullness

some things
will resist you
for six

they will argue
with your effort
mock your repetition
stand taller
in your persistence

but they are not waiting
for a better method

they are waiting
for the moment
you refuse
to stop

one step
too soon

© Ron Simpson Jr.