poetry

I have made an armistice

and bound my hands together

in prayer, not apart and

holding to yours. No more.

I have left it behind

for the rolling and romping

truce I have made twixt God and I.

I heave in waves to solve you

and dissolve your shade in the sun.

The sky isn’t so high

as to contain the pinnacle,

the crux of my promise,

and that is Christ.

He climbs the depths

and sinks the skies

and levels all.

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