@heartathome @tyme @Realness @ENKELI @Appleblossom
Hi dear family how is life treating you? i'm pretty down today but surving. i hope you all have a blessed Sunday.
been doing some work on my beggar poem, to make it more acceptable and readable, see what you think. i wrote the original poem many years ago after Jesus came and got me out of the pit i had been stuck in for near 7 years a reject even in my own understanding of self.
My Healing From Broken.
For years I lay beside the broken road,
my childhood blood had long turned cold,
my body paused in shattered years,
a mouth of dust my life full of tears.
Hope was thin as a dying breath,
pain the language left from death,
hungry ghosts waging a silent war,
falling down that pit without a floor.
I knew the taste of rot and stone,
in a dwelling place stuck on my own,
the world passing on cold iron feet,
understanding suffering as incomplete.
I became less than name or form,
a hollow cast in weathered storm,
forgotten under passing hate,
left to time and sealed fate.
Then—
a fragrance broke the choking air,
a rich presence within so very fair.
kneeling down in my broken stay
touching me where I lost my way.
I feared, perhaps he’ll turn aside,
no one stops where I reside—
yet in mercy He bent into the dust,
and lifted my ruin into trust.
Bread I never earned was given,
wine like sudden touch of heaven,
and in his voice the wounded heard
a name not bound to shame or word.
Shalom… beloved… child of mine…
come and eat, the bread is thine.
Drink again, your thirst is done,
you are seen, and you are one.
And hands unseen became a way,
lifting night into the day,
carrying me from broken ground
where silent suffering had bound.
A road became a rising hill,
a world I could not name stood still,
a house beyond imagining light,
swallowing my endless night.
Hands of healing, soft and near,
wiping years from blood and fear,
oil and touch and quiet breath,
undoing everything like death.
And I—
I could not understand the grace,
why love would meet me in that place,
why I, of all the lost and torn,
was held like something newly born.
Then came a knock upon my door,
“Come,” they said, “there is more—
a feast prepared, a name restored,
and Father waits beyond the door.”
Father…? The word like distant flame,
how could I still carry shame?
When all I was had been remade,
and darkness in me slowly swayed?
And I awoke in softest light,
no longer owned by endless night,
and gratitude, like rivers wide,
began to rise and not subside.
I had been taken from the road,
from weight no human should have known,
restored beyond what I could name—
and love had called me by my flame.
And deep within I finally understood:
Truly I cannot ever get lost.
For the truth holds me very dear
A purposeful life even down here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWFh7k-90nQ&list=RDSWFh7k-90nQ&start_radio=1
