This script is pathetic,
As the pen scribbles to tell you it’s story.
When the songs of Katherine came to my window,
I thought it was weird,
as she was one who never saw through the meadow.
Yet I wallowed in her songs.
Why sing songs of love and peace,
when all we see are rifles,
and its sprawling shadow?
She paid no attention to my empty words,
The more I yelled,
the more she responded with chants of love.
I thought it was bizarre,
so I denied her food,
hoping she would suck in wrath.
But she chanted more love.
I should have responded with love,
but didn’t know how to,
hence, I loathed her guts.
I troubled her,
and denied her every moment of peace.
My words were like a blade,
cutting through her skin to see it bleed
Still, she chanted love, joy, and peace.
I should have seen through her heart,
But was stuck with my ego and soreness.
Couldn’t she see the aches in blueprints?
So why fake a life of love, joy, and peace?
If I knew better, I should never have dared,
But in the coldness of my heart, I dug her grave.
Still, her last words to me were chants of love.
My heart bled,
as I travelled far north to hide my shame.
Her death drew me out of my chains.
Once, I was blind, but now I see.
Once, I knew only the coldness of life,
now I know only the fullness of His love.
And everyday seems a new day,
to chant His grace and love.
Romans 5:5… “And hope maketh not ashamed, the love of
God is shed abroad in my heart.”