by . . .?

eyesore
from chasing after
every image
flashed before me
by sin's sirens
(by faith,
i can walk through
the flowers of the
kingdom);

earached
all those angry
words packed in
so tight, i can only hear
their hollow echoes
(by faith,
i can hear
the soft whispers of
grace);

aftertasting
the noxious nosh
piled high on the
platter of my soul
(by faith,
i can feast
on the simple
bread,
quenching my thirst
from the everflowing
cup):

tonguetied
every word i imagine
slips quickly into the life
of those around me,
tripping them on
their journey
(by faith,
i can rest in silence
until the word
another needs
blossoms from the
seed)

by faith
everything
(even me)
has become
new.

(c) 2009 Thom M. Shuman