I write down words.
I was a drunk.
It hurts still, the heavy story bulges in my heart.
Knowing it’s true, that’s one thing.
to the vomit and need and empty
sits heavy with me again
But in writing comes a slow redemption.
are a gift:
the tale that cautions.
If you are there, broken
believing that you can drink away your fear
Home to the place in the crook of the rocks,
where the eagle wings of God cover and protect.
Come home, beloved because. No one
is too far gone into addiction, or into any other ugly dark thing
that Jesus’ sweet, mystical
life altering LIGHT fails to shine.
He weeps for us, whispering
Beloved come home.