A year of silence speaking volumes about my state of mind. Barrels full of emotion that mixes and forms nothing but a dark mushy colour. I need to separate these to see the rainbow again.
I don't think all is bad.
I don't think I have changed for the worst or that I will ever give up.
But I can't take this thing I call my life and cover it with a mere coat of white paint to start all over again. The canvas is tainted. The edges are worn. I can't say that I am ready to begin again. At this point in time I do not think I will ever be. But being ready is a luxury of the naïve.
And at this point in time I can only hold on, quietly:
Isaiah 57 - A Message from the high and towering God, who lives in Eternity, whose name is Holy:“I live in the high and holy places, but also with the low-spirited, the spirit-crushed, and what I do is put new spirit in them, get them up and on their feet again. For I’m not going to haul people into court endlessly... Otherwise, people would lose heart. These souls I created would tire out and give up."
Promises. Promises.
Show me.
No comments:
Post a Comment