Stilled

There is a dead cry

In my soul,

A holding back of baggage
Although I can’t quite
Put my finger on it,
It is there, lingering
In my hardened heart
I no longer feel justified
To continue the
Tantrum this little girl
Has left behind
Pink horizons take me
To a better place
Leaving my soul with
Serene thoughts
I celebrate a tinge
Of what’s to come,
Keeps me moving
To another day
As warm tears cover me
I feel His soft hands form me
And I am left
Stilled


This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD; “go down to the potter’s house, and there. I will give you my message.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the LORD came to me: “O house of Israel , can I not do with you as this potter does:” declares the LORD. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel .” Jeremiah 18:1-6