I am a broken word,
And how broken must I be
To continually break after you’ve set me?
Or is it that I see the cracks of my past, the scars of ceramic skin,
Gleaming fine in your Light
And name myself naught but broken?
I am not mine to name.
I am broken til You Break.
I am unspoken til You Speak.
Nestle your Word
Into little broken words,
As into little broken skin,
Among little broken birds,
Yes, You made Your dwelling not just among,
And a sparrow will not fall but that You see it.
Speak from the very mouth of God,
That as Everlasting Light draws near
Our cracked frames would reverberate
In sonic salvation.
That by your ceramic scars our
Brokenness bursts asunder,
In petrichor praise,
And birth-blood thunder.
(inspired by lesson 9: John 1:1-14)