Saturday, December 3, 2022

Letters

I was ground down, bereft. Your sweet voice quietly called me.

I was erased away, hollow. You breathed strength and substance into my empty parts.

Now bitter distraction face I. How might I keep my thoughts upon your grace?

Let me be a cliff light, that travelers may come to this, your house, and have life breathed into them.

Let the beacon I tend quietly call across dark seas. Let my simple table be a place of revival.

Let the world heal.

(Letter #2,734)

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