The Poetry Marathon

It drove home hard the place I was in,  my face chapped by winter,

my soul hardened by sin.

I couldn’t feel much at all now.  Could see even less.

I’d seen enough.

A church bell rings in the distance haunting echoes resound.

I recall a time when I knew the joy of that.

Was that a thousand lives ago?

I drop the bottle,

Snow crunches under the step I take

toward the sound.

The number five represents grace,

that I have looked in the face and saw me

as I should be, not as I am.

I looked in the face and saw me…

and didn’t turn away this time,

because you were looking too.

I didn’t turn away this time,

because you were looking past my past

and looking to who I would be.

You were looking past my past

and you let me see a glimpse of the real me

not the abused, lost, broken me.

You let me see a glimpse of the real me,

and I didn’t turn away this time.

That is grace.  That is grace.

When morning comes and I awaken to a new challenge,

let me meet it head on… let me meet it with purpose… let me not shy from the work.

When morning comes and I awaken… let me awaken…

let me hope…

let me do…

let me be.