The Rugged Tree: Where Grace Found Me
For He is precious to me
In the quiet chamber of rugged wood,
Where dust swirls in the sun's slow embrace,
There lies a story unwritten by time's hand,
Of a man bearing weight not his own.
Beneath a crown of thorned sky,
He walked the path of crimson echoes,
Each step a tapestry of sorrow and grace,
An unmarked map drawn in the ink of redemption.
Upon his shoulders, a burden heavy as forgotten sins,
A load that spoke in silent tongues of despair,
He took, as a sovereign of sacrifice,
The shattered remnants of a weary heart.
The hearth of my dwelling, once barren and cold,
Was warmed by the light of an unseen sun,
A gift too vast for the bounds of earthly reckoning,
An abundance woven from threads of divine mercy.
In the shadowed corners of my own frailty,
He offered a chalice brimming with unmerited solace,
And though my hands could never grasp the fullness,
He asked but for faith, as simple as the dawn's first light.
A whisper of repentance, as soft as the dusk's sigh,
And in this humble exchange, my soul was reborn,
Cradled in the embrace of an eternal promise,
A return far greater than the ledger of my deeds.
In this rustic hall of my existence,
Where the echoes of the past dance with the present,
He remains, a beacon of undying grace,
A testament written not in books, but in the heart's quiet reverie.
About the Creator
Taylor Ward
From a small town, I find joy and grace in my trauma and difficulties. My life, shaped by loss and adversity, fuels my creativity. Each piece written over period in my life, one unlike the last. These words sometimes my only emotion.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (3)
This is so perfect .love the rhythms and each lines
Nice gratitude. Thanks for sharing personal experience.
These types of poems can be a much much sometimes, but I found yours to be such a beautiful and personal reflection of your experience that it was actually quite moving. As usual, you've delivered quite a emphatic emotion with the beauty found in your use of words. Well done.