My Lord, called…

And he couldn’t find me.

He placed me last

In green pastures,

In ever flowing waters

with all that I thought I could need.

He called me out from the dungeon. And I was scared to look into his eyes.

I had left the greatest which is love.

Slowly, rotting inside, sin eating me up to the bone. Sores of unforgiveness, a stench of guilt,

What an uncalled world! Existing from the lowly of edges.

This place has no grace of life. Just regret pilling up and filling the air with pitch black. A daily reminder of loss.

This life ain’t worth living.

To myself, I said. I will walk back to my father.

For I have sinned but he is love.

Fragrant_Christ poetry