Frailty In The Past
It's funny how you can go back on what you've written and see where your heart was and how you lived your life. Today I stumbled upon a blog of another friend of mine. She's been going through some rough love issues I guess and was just sharing a bit through a poem she had read by Emily Dickinson.
It got me to thinking of things that I myself have written, and I went back and looked at a few pieces of what would very loosely be called prose I guess. I'm not a poet, and I don't pretend to be one. But I do have the heart of an artist and my emotions run high whenever I seek out the things of God and listen to music. Those two gifts of life are the things that bring the most creativity out of me.
But every now and then, like all of us, I'll go through something very difficult and hard. I'm not sure what it was I was going through at the time I wrote this piece, but it's very dark. Most of it is just simply my own voice calling out the things in my life that needed to change. I praise God that my life isn't so dark as it used to be. I called this particular piece Frailty, and thought I'd share it.
I’m feeling frail again.
Darkness creeps around me, taunting me, reminding me of the hurt I’ve caused. Dark spirits piercing me, making me taste the bitterness of my mortality and my failed promises of redemption and all of that which I care for. They ridicule me because of my lingering malcontent and unbelief.
But still He sits with me in the dark, wanting me to leave this room of remorse and denial.
I’m feeling lost again.
My mind and heart are fighting for the right to fulfill my calling and my desire. Harsh yelling from one to another keeps me up at night. They ripple through the dark and remind me of earlier days of lonely walks through the Deep Wood.
But still He holds me close and whispers in my ear to soothe my heart from all the lies, wanting me to leave this room of confusion and strife.
I’m feeling cold again.
The night rages on. It lingers over me and I feel the pain of those that I have left behind not telling them of the love that could have been theirs. My heart closed to all who surround me and all that belongs to me. My heart, a numb creature, unwilling to drink of His love to fill it up lays bitter and lifeless.
But still He fills me with love and compassion waiting for me to feel warm again and wanting me to leave this room of antipathy and fear.
I feel death’s finger pointing toward me
Shadowy thorns prowl closer to my soul to end it’s suffering.
But He stepped in and took my place and with love accepted those thorns that were meant for me.
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