One of the poems I wrote whilst in a spiritual slump last year.
I sit here on Good Friday thankful for the death and resurrection of Christ.
I sit here this Friday with the knowledge that I am not a ‘Dead Soul’ as the title of my poem suggests, but that I am alive in Christ through his willingness to become my “black blotches”.
I sit here in the realisation that a mere “sprinkling” of his blood is enough to cover my “black blotches” of sin.
This life is a journey, and everyone is on their own journey.
I fail Christ time and time again, “I’m a mess who seems to mangle, everything within my handle” which is why I am so thankful for His death and resurrection.
His “sprinkling of red paint” makes my “white canvas with black blotches” brand new again, and again, and again, and again, and again…….
How will tattoos look in old age if kept out of the sun and if one maintains a healthy weight or fit lifestyle to prevent stretching or sagging skin.
This is a heavy poem indeed.
Need to try…