How will you ever know what youre made of if you never get broken down? Dust and ash will one day cover my dry bones. A new relationship with myself. I hold my death in frequent thoughts to whipe my mirror clean of fear. Even when its not okay, it is okay. We search for relief. We want to believe as we express our disbelief. The wind is graceful to the hawk that flies well. A weapon can take no life without the grace of God. Accepting All doesnt mean to stray from the just path; it only means to overstand all as necessity, even our mistakes, pain, and confusion. These hands are not my hands as I picture them as dry bones. These are Gods hands; credit for them I shall not take. God will take this body; the Essence of us all. Grains of sand. Blades of grass. Killed like an ant. Who I once thought I was will be forgotten; only to be remembered by dust and ash as it covers my dry bones. I ask myself now; how can anyone die when everyone lives through everything? The trees speak for the wind. All is said. Yet, not everyone has spoken.
Posted on: Mon, 05 May 2014 20:03:33 +0000
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