My wayward soul is stretched out thin
across the marred and desolate plain.
Desperate hands searching for a foreign yet familiar block
to grasp and clench hold of- this stumbling block.
My eyes will scan the horizon of hope
until my weary empty gaze falls on Him.
And there, in that still and solitude moment,
I will be filled again. I will be filled again.
alana norcross
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