❤️ THE HEART SCRIPT
No need to wait for Valentine’s sign,
To draw a heart in crimson line.
Through silent hours of common day,
Within my soul, the Lord will stay.
To love Him with each breath I take,
My mind and spirit for His sake.
Each stroke inscribed in scarlet hue,
A witness to the grace He drew.
Though this frail frame may ache and tire,
My heart still burns with holy fire.
In moments small and plain and dim,
A love so deep I rest in Him.
📖 A FORGOTTEN POEM BOOK
Sixteen winters slept upon this shelf,
A secret kept unto itself.
Beneath the hush of cedar dust,
The ink had turned to golden rust.
No ghost was this forgotten thing,
But seed that held a hidden spring.
It waited for a hand to see,
The truth it kept so patiently.
And now the gardener finds the seed,
A buried voice begins to breathe.
The silent lines rise up and sing,
More gold than crown of any king.
✝️ THE LIVING SCRIPT
Sixteen years in closet dust,
A soul of ink and tender rust.
I signed my name — a fragile flower
Beside the Cross that holds all power.
I thought the seed was lost to time,
Yet God revealed Himself in line.
He carved His message on my skin,
Where grace and suffering both begin.
Not bloom of ease nor gentle light,
But one that opens through the night.
A treasure found, a prayer set free:
His strength now flowering in me.
🌙 THE MIDNIGHT WHISPER
I am but simple, small, and still,
An empty room, an open will.
But when the velvet dark descends,
A holy hush around me bends.
She breathes a flame into my ear,
A golden script of awe and fear.
“Quick,” she sighs, “let ink now run
Before the coming of the sun.”
I catch the spark with trembling hand
Before she fades like desert sand.
A sacred theft, a fleeting light —
An angel’s whisper in the night.
🖋 THE PEN RUNS DRY
The ink runs dry, the heart feels tossed,
The path grows dim, the lines are lost.
When all alignment slips from me,
I drift upon a restless sea.
I cannot grasp life’s tightening rein
Amid the bother and the strain.
My soul grows thin, my edges fray,
Awaiting flow to find its way.
Yet though the pen forgets to fly,
The prayer within will never die.
Beneath the Cross I lay my plea —
And wait until He writes through me.
Rising from the Ashes
The rain falls like sorrow,
Grey sky pressing down,
Memories of the lost echo through the storm.
Tears burn.
The world mourns with me.
And yet —
Tomorrow the sun will shatter the clouds.
The sky will open wide.
A soul flickers,
A fragile star defying the night.
From ashes, we will rise —
Brilliant. Unbroken. Renewed.
Goodbye is a lie.
See you later,
In light reborn.
