The clicking of the clock at the hearts resting speed,
life slowly passing as it plants its rhythmic seed.
The turning, shiny, silver second hand,
glinting like the wielded sword in Garden of Eden land,
guarding access
to the eternal Tree of Life -
we are buried beneath its constancy,
straining for rays of light.
*
You look for me here,
lost in this land,
alone, as You've given
the choice to be
hopeful of the help that is still within reach -
Come to me...
*
Rescue is not strong enough a term
for being pulled from the wreckage
with mercy as I emerge:
extend Your tender hand,
I'm weak, but I'll grasp
and be lifted by Grace
in this so precious act,
to rise yet above Eden
(it's so hard to believe)
that coming to You
can really relieve
all the guilt and shame,
through pardon it is passing -
things will never be the same,
I'll be free,
everlasting.
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