.
|
Man wears his wounds
like shiny honors of medal
or hides them away in dark,
And saves his bandages
in memoriam of such debts
that some day must be paid.
And what does man get?
Either way, all that pain
lives on still deep in them,
Keeping them prisoner,
pretending to be healed,
but more dead than alive.
True love has no place
to put down roots to grow
when past hurts hold court.
True freedom is the price,
you are only a part of who
God has you in mind to be. |
.
|