Lines
My story is told in lines--
The ones upon my face,
The ones drawn in the sand,
The lines I wrote in my own book.
I fill the pages with my worldly thoughts, desires, my so-called needs.
The pages are smeared, messy, wrong.
I don't understand why-- it's my biography.
I try to re-write them the way that I wished they had been written.
I rip out others-- I don't want those memories.
I fear there aren't enough pages left in my book; I've wasted so many.
What story have I written on my soul?
Has it been forever stained by what I placed there?
Did I write my own obituary...
But now I find that I can no longer turn back the pages,
no longer re-write my history.
He has wiped it all clean for me.
I can now only turn forward, one page at a time.
I am no longer the author of my own biorgraphy.
He is my author
He holds the pen
His grace is the ink...
But I can't see it, the pages are blank and I am afraid that I have been lost.
So now I can only see one page at a time, sometimes only one sentence.
Each page is filled as I am ready to receive His Word.
He shows me the way I will now live my life, for Him, and for me.
I no longer am afraid of what each day will bring for He has written hope upon my heart
and my spirit is renewed.
Copyright © Laura Mckay | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment