61.

I am but a child, grown and grown not at all.

I have seen ice and fire, stars and sculptures, sand and earth.

So have I for war and pain, sorrow and loss, death and tears.

My hands grab at the fleeting, they slip and shatter. Leaves wither and paper boats sink.

Is there love still behind a slammed door, or forgiveness possible in the eyes of a loaded gun?

Even so, in the case of the eternal I know where to look.

Footprints beside mine in the sand, filled with the salt of the ocean.

My God’s love and mercy sings me into a blessed sleep.

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