Nothing Will Have the Power

This poem is about the whole journey of my life throughout the past months, from the hospital to Ireland to Taylor University. I’ve based it on one of my favorite Bible verses, Romans 8:38-39.

Broken glass.

Shattered dreams.

Dying candles flicker in the cold dark.

White sheets.

Metal rails.

Constant noise that drowns out hope.

Not even death or life.

A  whisper of despair on the starless air.

Worry struggling to glue the pieces back together.

Dark that lives.

Angels or rulers.

Uncertainty like a curving path I can’t follow.

Four years…and then what?

I don’t understand tomorrow.

How can I understand my life?

Things present or things to come, hostile powers.

Miles and miles of dark ocean.

Standing on the edge of everything I’ll never know, inches from death.

And yet, as I watch the orange glow rise above green grass and white foam in the morning, I know that for the first time I am alive.

Height or depth,

A tunnel or a cave?

Eternal dark beyond the edge of sun,

Or is there a door?

Dark stairwells.

Broken lights.

Running, stumbling, falling.

But running still.

Or any other created thing will have the power to separate us.

And running still.

 

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