L
It is night time,
and still I am awake,
looking over poems and paintings
of my frantic quest for God.
This question of my "my life"
has always been the problem.
I was shipwrecked long ago,
and the waves of Grace
brought me back home.
Once I prayed for a grand mission,
now each breath is a prayer.
How could I express this,
or paint the Love of God?
The hands I paint look nothing like
the hands that have carried me,
but I let them be.
After all, the walls are rather plain.
and still I am awake,
looking over poems and paintings
of my frantic quest for God.
This question of my "my life"
has always been the problem.
I was shipwrecked long ago,
and the waves of Grace
brought me back home.
Once I prayed for a grand mission,
now each breath is a prayer.
How could I express this,
or paint the Love of God?
The hands I paint look nothing like
the hands that have carried me,
but I let them be.
After all, the walls are rather plain.