Hands outstretched Confession on quivering lips “I broke it.” Be it cup or figurine knocked upon the ground By careless elbows Compassion leaks from love itself Dripping into cracks as Helping hands hold the pieces together Waiting
Release is gradual Will it hold? Is it strong? In the cup of gentleness When it’s ready “It’s okay. We fixed it.” A young soul learns forgiveness And trust When asked to place the treasure Back home
Did we ask to exist? Think on it… A sentient thought that Could whisper to a woman’s whom “I’m ready.” Or… Perhaps, As the scene was written The ghosts within the mind of God Asked for life, And he let them free. Maybe, We itched with in his ear. Or twined inside his being. Pulling, Begging, To be. But perhaps not. Perhaps we were but silence, Pregnant with potential. A question ready to be asked. A lesson waiting for the right Scholars interpretation And that was He. Maybe…
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