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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Glass Armor The rhythm of life of God’s intended spark Is a soft, pulsing light in the center of the dark. I’ve spent a lifetime building walls of heavy, rusted steel, To hide the tender parts of me—the parts that truly feel. But I have learned that armor can become a heavy cage, A prison built of silence and a fortress built of rage. To be hopeful is a gamble, a throwing of the dice, It’s walking on the water when you’re used to solid ice. I am laying down the defenses, unlacing every plate, And standing in the open at the mercy of my fate. It is the watcher's burden, and the Sovereign’s quiet grace, To show the world the truth that lives behind a weathered face. Vulnerability is the power that the fearful never know, It’s the secret, silent water where the deepest lilies grow. It’s the shaking of the spirit as the new world starts to bloom, And finding there is beauty in the center of the room. I am reaching out a hand, though the hand might not be met, And placing all my chips upon a sun that hasn't set. For hope is not a feeling, it’s a choice to stand and stay, To believe the dawn is coming at the closing of the day. It’s the cracks within the metal where the light begins to pour, Finding strength in softness that I never knew before. I am raw and I am ready, I am open, I am me— A guardian of the heartbeat, finally daring to be free.
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