Pure Grace

Pure Grace


Pure Grace

the swirl of a paintbrush
the lingering of a perfect note
the cry of seagulls
in the misty morning.

Pure Grace

the smell of love
in the emerald forest
Flash of unicorns
in the distance
longing to be seen
not seen.

I find you
in the harshness
of daily routine,
in the surrender of sleep,
in the disturbance
of the evening news.

I find you
in the turmoil
of lost emotion,
in the fury
of life’s injustice,
in the gracious
silk folds
of my own flesh.

Pure Grace
I bow to you

~ Finally ~

Over and over again.


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>