October 20, 2010 § 1 Comment

Box yourself in with the lines you draw
With flaws flowing from pens of plastic
Forcing words to fit into molds
Of antiquated untold stories

Time-bound ink, smudged and faded
A spiral story of no destination
Trace these words with the tips of your fingers
Experience the hard texture of edges

Drown yourself with a thirst for confinement –
The desire to design your own boundaries
Or suffocate your spirit in the size of your world
And burn in the scope of your vision

Then peel your white gloved hands from the invisible walls
Of the box you created around you
Lift them over your head, drop to your knees
And hand over control of your novel

Raise your eyes and lower your pen
Surrender your leather-bound glory
Watch in terror as it’s ripped from its binding
Feel the sting as it bleeds from your soul

Fight the desire to grasp at its ashes
But heal your eyes in the light of its Flame
Read the inscription you could never have penned
Greater than a thousand of your pages

Dance in the ink that pours from the sky
Raining from the crystal quill
Gaze upon letters spelled out in stars
Across galaxies you can’t see the ends of

Forget the past that you mourn for
Celebrate your wounds of change
Your destiny dwarfs your narrative
Behold – now we’re doing a new thing.

Is. 43:19



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