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Circumstances' wave at crest hope soars above on soothing wings,
Drawing sight to possibility and freedom's crystal joy
And flight far above details mired in earth...but my flesh clings
To the valley's luring bath of sin, pungent oaths that jumping
In somehow heals the wound, satisfies an echo of my needs.
Joy's eternity twisted, urgency of the stream's flow dulled
I consider and doom my day in a moment of misled
Maturity; sliding deeper, further, clawing defeating
Itself and darkening the valley of illusion I fed,
Till sullen greetings from stone and soil and caresses from weeds.
Yet each stumble brings pain and promise; laced with grace this failure
Of my flesh strengthens surety of what must one day be.
Chips fly from falsehood with each err, chisels in His hand shaping
Stubborn corruption into Christ's reflection, forging brilliance
From Hell's pallid schemes and tangled, poisonous, plotting deeds.
Chagrined and shocked and awash in fury, even Hell's work
To a glorious end arrives, as bathed in the falls of Christ's
Affection and claim and nearing His design, my mind and will
A shortening path to restoration find, rejoicing, clean
To clearly see His hand remaining; my wound no longer bleeds.
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