Life will never be the same.

My heart is damaged
and cannot be put back to the way it was.

This wound –

a scab will form over it

(but even that will tear from time-to-time
and begin to bleed anew) –

can never heal.

 

I will carry this heaviness to my grave.
I will bear this hard thing till death claims me.

Lord, give grace  –

though every thought be weighed down,
every smile come with grief,
every laugh wrap dolour  –

that I might still know deep joy in You.

Amen.

 

 

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NaPoWriMo

Day 2

 

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