Still,
I rise.
By the power of God,
I sheath
The knife
That was once pressed
To my neck.
That falls to the floor
With a resounding
click.
Rusting. Tetanus shots. God.
Somehow I saw
Jesus' face in the blade's
Own,
Ruddy red hair and
Scraggly beard.
And.
Voice cleaving through
The darkness—
a whisper.
For the first time in
A while,
He spoke to me.
Still,
I rise.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Still,
I rise.
By the power of God,
I sheath
The knife
That was once pressed
To my neck.
That falls to the floor
With a resounding
click.
Rusting. Tetanus shots. God.
Somehow I saw
Jesus' face in the blade's
Own,
Ruddy red hair and
Scraggly beard.
And.
Voice cleaving through
The darkness—
a whisper.
For the first time in
A while,
He spoke to me.
Still,
I rise.
No matter what, praise Him. I owe him a lot.
