From day to night my feelings emerge
An uneven balance of anger and fear
They consume my being in what could only be called
A soulful and mournful whispering dirge.
With every box I pack and every memory I suppress
I win a tiny yet mighty battle
Proving to myself that I have the strength
To numb the pain during convalesce.
I've sat on the doorstep of the house of depression
And I've knocked loud enough to hear
But I'm refusing to cross over the threshold of hurt
Instead I continue my process of prayer and intercession.
No comments:
Post a Comment