isn't it funny, the song of today?
you're written in the back of my eyelids, almost mistaken as a dream,
yet still a memory.
i almost sent you a melody that sounded like you, forgetting
that you wouldn't like to hear from me. i promise it'll all be new again someday
(i whisper that last part to myself).
we ruined bob ross paintings in my kitchen,
giggling in between the sunlight coming in.
"i know all about drugs," she slipped in. and i'm still learning to be new again,
whispered her gentle hands.
grace is not preoccupied with the prideful, so we bend our knees in the resumption.
do you ever have those moments, where you think back to certain days,
and the memory feels like you died a thousand deaths?
i see fury, i see bitterness, yet it is all sopped with the acquaintance of loneliness.
how is it we can be face to face with a close God
yet have swollen fists and bloody eyes?
find your answer in his side, thomas.
in the scars on his brow. how can a son bear the weight of a close God who turns his face away?
because grace is not preoccupied with the prideful, and it takes
sacrifice to make all things new again.
isn't it funny, the song of today?
it speaks of someday.
