though i find myself
sinking in the sea
of stress and success,
you
buoy me
with your living waters
until i am
at
peace;
though i run down
amaranthine
corridors
late for never-ending meetings,
you detour me
onto the
walkways
leading to your
joy;
though i stumble through
the thorn bushes of a
culture which
seeks
to tear my soul to shreds,
you prepare a picnic
in the
garden of
grace;
though i am famished
and
malnurtured from
wandering the shadows
of sin and death,
you hand me
a slice
of life's bread slathered
with the sweet honey
of
hope;
though i try to flee
from the
very life
i convince myself
i am seeking,
you slow me down
so
goodness and mercy
can catch up with me
and
push me
into your
heart.
©
2012 Thom M. Shuman
Thursday, April 26, 2012
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