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You’re just about there.
Hands outstretched toward that line
That speaks lines of success and worth,
Yet abrasive against your fingertips
Cause as you grasp at it, it slips
And leaves you face down on the pavement uttering this statement with your lips….
I failed.
Failure has a strange ability to conjure
Fears and inadequacies where you falter
And whispers doubts into conjecture that grips your heart and squeezes the joy out.
Blood gushes and then circulates.
Your body in efforts to compensate
Drains its energy into it as it courses through… leaving you depressed and desolate.
You did do well though… just not well enough.
And it wells in your eyes as it gets tough
To cry rivers and streams to the Father
But
For some reason it just gathers.
It musters within the heave in your chest
And weighs you down as you try your best
To breathe.
To find some reprieve in the ones to whom you cleave
But warm hearts and cold shoulders don’t always cause lungs to expand.
It’s just a second hand smokescreen that became your nicotine and gave you lung cancer.
The answer is  simple. His yoke is easy. His burden is light.
He takes delight in easing your pain.
He delights in making you whole again.

 

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