Derelict
I was the scattered embers of what was,
a mirage of something that couldn't be.
And it bore a hole inside me, for twas -
it not for the grace of strangers to me,
and that of the Lord, my wholesome Father,
my bountiful and compassionate friend,
I wouldn't be. All I'd be is farther -
into the abyss of a pit-filled end.
But no, I have not been forsaken, lost,
I don't lie a remnant of something gone.
No I attest that I am of His cost,
for I am truly God's adopted one.
So yes, I was once so torn, derelict.
but God, my Father, made me exquisite.
03.23.2024
Copyright © Charlotte Watkins | Year Posted 2024
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