Imprisoned
Life
Within a cage the heart does cry,
No hope to stand against a lie
And beats in pain to be set free
To all that it was meant to be
To wipe away the loss and past
In order to preserve and last
A heart was not made for bitter end
But overcome and make amend
A rectifying God is He,
Who made this heart to dance for free
Believe in hope of healing hands
Of One that molds the heart to stand
1.17.12
Occasionally I wonder how that poem escaped my thoughts. One
day I sat down and my fingers started typing out the first lines before I
realized what I was even writing about. Then it dawned on me that I wasn’t
writing a poem just to complete a homework assignment.
I typed more. The truths that had been jumbled in my head
were now words. And these words summarized a few prayers that had been recently
forged on my heart.
Halfway through the poem I realized I was writing this poem
for someone whether I meant to or not.
It’s the oddest experience to sit back after writing something and wonder who wrote it...(I’m not magic am I?) Like a teacher helps a 1st grader form letters, Someone helped me. --yeah we’ll forget that I’m a junior in high school for a few minutes--
I didn’t know what to expect, but the effect this poem had
on the person God intended it for was not what I had imagined. But I refuse to
own the words that so beautifully and tragically captured a picture of an
imprisoned life.
This is not my poem. It belongs to the One who spoke out His Truth through me. Who am I?
This is not my poem. It belongs to the One who spoke out His Truth through me. Who am I?
Romans 9:21
