Your timing, O God, is flawless, they say,
Mercy spills from Your eternal edge.
I cling to that truth, yearning for solace,
Yet it slips as I bleed through the years.
Woes swarm like static, sharp with insult,
Words that cut, leaving a thousand wounds.
Will You, my Maker, cradle me close,
When tears and fragments are all I am?
If pain is...
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