Poetry

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the ink attempts to fill the page
yet the empty space still reminds
that my words will remain incomplete,
for they only colour around the edges of my pain
leaving the emptiness of a hurting heart
bleeding upon the paper, without claim.

broken phrases collapsing
leaving emotions left unclaimed,
words placed in the order I ordain
yet they stumble in the fragility of imagination,
colliding with understanding
wounding expression, without beauty.

a melody left without a tune to play
silenced by my heartaches unexplored,
sharing only from the shallows of deception
drowning in the surface, never going deep
useless letters scattered in lines of prose,
disconnected from the reader, without meaning.

words written in a hurry without thought
burying delight in the grave of ease,
slowly dying from the cancer of pretence
vulnerability designed by my hidden shame,
true stories camouflaged in the pretty rhymes
exposing only pride and ink, without courage….

reading the words written in red ink
truth revealed in every syllable expressed,
wonder of grace, released in His depth of strength
the true colours of real life, seen in His pain
healing the bruises of my hurting heart
bleeding upon a rugged cross, love without doubt!



Note: “words written in red ink” above, refers to Jesus words recorded in the gospels. In many versions they are printed in red to highlight their importance.

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