Where do words begin?
Where does each letter, curved to fit and spaced for comprehension begin
to communicate the intricacies of a living journey?
How does my limited vocabulary or black pixels on your screen explain an awakening of ones latent soul,
a rising from the dead?
Thankful,
I will never untangle the threads of Your faithfulness to wind onto my erroneous spool of formula. 
For it is with those strands so delicately woven, like a blanket
that You cover my nakedness and warm my shivering shoulders. 
Neither can I trace Your fingertips from where they’ve begun pressing into this raw clay
to what Your attentive hands have molded. 
Firmly pushed, gently smoothed and placed inside the kiln of
Your fiery love and
burning righteousness. 

But do you even understand?
(I mean YOU, sitting, half-alive, reading this with dancing pupils)
How I could sit in pew benches my whole life while ignorance stagnated in my soul?
How do the blind know they cannot see?
How does a Pharisee miss the Messiah?
His illumination reveals all
Thankful,
His lips are there to press a seal around each of my gaping holes
breathing light into darkness. 
I cannot exist for I’ve been resolved to nothing in this.

© Stephanie Diaz-Schumm

Song: Freedom Blade - This Will Destroy You