Long before she unpacked items she thought were just too heavy
And life becomes hard to smile,
when tears are knocking on your eyelids, demanding to be set free
The muscles in her face grow tired
Tired of wanting to be pleasant
It requires far less to frown
Each seeming redemption resulting in flat lines
Lines that became words
Words that became memories
And memories that became scars
Scars that remind her why she shouldn’t live
Scars that invited stitches which proved to be useless …
All but one
A man who specializes in resuscitating the dead
One who gives hope in the darkness and rivers in desertsÂ
One who never leaves the patient on life support
but know she’ll eventually wake up and see who she was created to be
One who deems her worthy of living
The man who died on Calvary
