I marvel at grace when in times it is gifted, yet all that is given in time leads to grace.
Little words find me in spontaneous night, shouting insurmountably into my dreams or whispering in the corners of my conscious mind for which time is always allotted,
thick thoughts there are spotted and by grace are unknotted,
allowing the i’s in my words to be dotted,
save for one, all but I, save for me; and save me.
In scriptures and speeches and sculptures we speak and
in reading and listening and looking we learn.
With reason and laughter and kindness we flourish and
with treason and hatred and malice we burn.
Grace is a gift and faith is a mystery, life’s an abyss, and love has no history,
lest we should quit and give into misery, yet we are fit to live free of infamy,
for we here are gifted the blessing of grace.


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