All things hold
when my spirit is weak
and trembles at the notion of
continued existence without a father.
All things hold
when my heart is like a
desert: raw, burnt, lifeless
I roam the land
All things hold
when to live is to continue to
live in weakness, wholly dependent
on Creator
This poem is the truest reflection of where I am at right now. It is messy; indeed, I am messy. It is a manifestation of my reflections on Colossians 1:17. I pray that the Lord meets me in this season where nothing else can possibly satisfy. This is my prayer for myself.
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