From the Belly of the Grave

My Lord, how my heart grieves me so. For the Harlequin and the Jackal, I wear the frivolity of its transparency like a gown. Oh how they chant, oh how they clap!! The stench of this old infirmity plumes like a haughty specter cutting through the air, consuming the remnants of wonder left by chance encounters. Insecurity wells up from the pressures of the unknown, thus I linger in the stillness of what seems to never come. Lashing at the echoes that roar in the belly of this sheol, I will continually look toward You El Roi. Swept under the current of this lament, be it so that an utterance of praise be formed upon these lips. Just as surely as my spirit shall faint, let it be Your hand that reaches into the depths of this moment, for I am nothing without You. Your heart and no other shall be my rescue oh Lord.  I seek refuge in Your promises. Draw near and take up my brokenness Jehovah-Rapha and hold me close.




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