 |
| Photo: the sacred life Artist Unknown |
Just how much I can wander right along the knife-blade without tipping downward.
forward.
Just how far from the seat of forgiveness I can step before I realize that the ground has since disappeared
i am walking on Grace alone.
Sometimes, I find myself at a loss for how much poetry I dream and then promptly forget upon my waking.
It is a powerful ache to realize just how much this world of chaos, of tears, of sleep-stolen moments and overbooked days has ripped my art from me.
It used to be a poem I breathed...a poem of mercy and love that never ceased but only continued to run and run until the stanzas were breathless with words of Him.
And then I awoke. And I forgot it all again.
And then I remember.
i walk on Grace alone
that lingers in the day and in the night, in the waking and the sleeping.
i breathe His poem.
all hours. all days.
No more knife blade. No more ripped parchment.
i walk on Grace alone.
 |
| Linking up with Emily: imperfect prose on Thursdays, even though this is a Wednesday. This may become a weekly song. |
