I was coming undone.
Now that I did see,
I had to find out why.
Oh, darkest grave,
foul sting of death,
deep pool of deception
with unquenchable thirst.
Pull thread, pull.
Lies and hatred.
No peace, no stability.
Falling tower every hour.
On the run to keep it up,
whatever forever . . .
In me, there is no good.
Undone I see,
only bones ground down to powder.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
a wind blows me into the air.
This time I cry out,
“Oh God, refashion me
to whom in your wisdom
I should be.”
My threads are dark,
I ask of thee to turn them light
that I may see the image of You in Son.
As He said, “I and the Father are one.”
Your life’s pattern, I must know.
Its weave is peace,
restoring order as it grows.
Now, I am sewn
where love and truth ignite to light.
I have a home.