Two trains running parallel –
I, the passenger
observing them, the passengers
for just a moment
before our trains part ways.
Panic rises in my chest
at the sudden, unexpected realisation
that I might never glance across
any of their faces
I might never know their names,
One brief glimpse of the eye
is all I get
before the train trundles away,
never to be seen again.
I am left
All that I am and all I can hope to be
All that I understand and all I need
Is to be in your fold for the years I grow old
Within the glory of heaven with you
All is goodness and joy in the wonders of God
Behold you are crowned with the victory
Claimed for heaven for all of eternity
Shining down on the nations of earth
You are our God and we are your children
Trusting in all that you say and you do
Providing a way to be more like you everyday
Following you, Jesus, Lord of mercy
We fall on our knees confessing our need for you
All that I am is to be held by Jesus
By: Leona Chaput
I guess this is the end.
You're everything I needed,
yet nothing I expected.
The tides turned for me, bringing with
them a rose washed up on the shore,
a gift so unexpected
that I didn't even feel the thorns
digging into my skin when I held you.
I guess this is the end,
and for now, I think I'm okay with that.
I've learned that
tides come and tides go.
Roses bloom, and roses die.
I won't stand at this shore waiting
for spring to come around again.
I'll let go,
I'll say goodbye.
I can relate to longing,
to the flame burning stark against
the deathly cloak of night
but the memories are fading
for I am growing,
moving from rubble into streams-
I've stopped fraying at the seams
and every day
the dull ache feels more like
the thudding of a heart that's beating
to the rhythm of an untold story
I'm no longer worried about
ripping the pages as I turn them
for my story had a harsh winter
heavy with growing pains,
weeds that choked my flower heart
but the climax has passed-
spring has arrived
and I am blooming
Let your pain be pain.
Don’t hide it under beautiful metaphors or a smile.
For the love of God, don’t push it so far down that you’re walking every step on thorns.
Let your pain bleed through.
Holding onto the ache will not make you stronger.
(Believe me, it will not.)
Pain makes skeletons.
It makes you bitter, angry, and numb.
Gripping so tight that your knuckle turn white will not dilute the burn.
It will wilt your soul.
Pain does always not build character.
It just hurts.
Pain is a wound that festers.
It will wait years upon years for it to be picked at.
What do you believe will happen when it begins to bleed again?
Let the pain flow.
Let it slip out of your wounds and roll down your eyes.
Let it pour out of your mouth till your voice is shaken to the core.
You’ll thank yourself in time.
Time didn't heal my wounds
and it isn't on my side
Time is indifferent
to the chaos that threatens
to drown me
It sifts quickly through my fingers
leaving no trace, no residue
to turn back to
I am unsure
whether it has changed me
or merely aged me
I am consumed
by the absence of time