Sweetly Broken

Here are my thoughts in regards to the Lord today. They are ever-changing, ever-increasing. But today they are this:

Sweetly Broken

Few moves of yours’, make sense to me.

Few things you know, I believe.

I am a ladybug on a grass blade,

and you are the wind.

I am a centimeter small.

I am quickened with weary worry,

you nestle me plain within your knowledge.

I am a sharp jolt of pain;

a spear in your side.

You are living liquid;

cure to my raging disease.

I am a pond frozen thin like glass,

you are a pulsing hand; warm with blood

and vigorous defeating.

Your knuckles are lead mounds

of gentle fury.

Your hand is on my head.

The dust specs in the sun rays are

your mercies and the coral of the

tree tops is your grace.

Your whispers are tornados to

my enamel.

The cracks of your hands are valleys

for my thoughts.

I am a child tucked discretely

behind your shoulder blade.

Carried up your hill and sprawled

out, face down, beneath your selflessness.

You are a beacon of Hope to my doubt.

Your words are thick blankets of wool

spreading warmth on to my winters

and my eyes are like a newborn’s ,

quaintly adjusted to this Life.

My ignorance is far from blissful,

like the loose brace of a carrier pigeon.

 I am a mess of a woman and

you are far from man.

Yet when I reach, I graze your brow.

Your cheek is of porcelain,

hard as my heart.

I am angered and you are perfection.

I am a callous to your flawlessness

and you are sorely pleased.

Your tears are the matching of

my silence.

Your belt is the sustainment of

my breath.

Your sword is the promise of

my suffering.

And I am sweetly broken;

wondrously torn.