I rush in like
wheres the fire?
Can't see the flames
for the smoke.
I bust in with
good intentions,
living water,
but I choke.
wheres the exit?
burnt scorched feet,
repleat with guilt,
where they've walked
and the strongholds I've built,
shells of dark worry populate and fill
my hurried hasty heart.
Oh say, Can we see,
the freedom we need?
Do failures build mountains,
or just build our grief?
When winter has come will we live
or let go?
I've been through the season, and now
I know that I know. :)
