Humility's seeds
are sown in horror,
in stomachs refusing to eat,
in hearts refusing to hope
in minds refusing release
from the terror
of wrongs which cannot be undone.
Humility's seeds
spread roots
in souls tilled by torment
in nights turning sleepless
in flight seeking cover
from the shame
of trust which cannot be regained.
7 comments:
One of my writer pals tells me I have an awesome sense of what works and a great no-BS detector. With that in mind:
Whenever you write, you amaze me.
You are stronger than you might think, in a lot of ways, I suspect, my friend.
God faithfully brings us low. And then he faithfully reassures us that we are (still...and in spite of our deeds) His alone. That is the great promise, the great good news, the gospel. We belong to Christ. And in our humility of smallness we see the grandness of his glory.
Your poem is well written.
Judy, Exactly! His strength is made perfect in weakness. Sometimes He brings/allows the moments that remind us just how weak we truly are, and that it is only He who ultimately upholds us.
Cat,
What can I say?
Thanks
Good poem. I like how you start with the stomach. It's mundane and unexpected at once.
Thanks Christopher,
The stomach's where it starts, and much like the source of the terror, it's mundane and unexpected at once! Well said.
I like the second half of the poem about how its roots can be spread in various conditions. It serves as a hope in negative situations (or so it appears to me).
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