Still.
I need space
around words
to help me think.

Still.
I need space
around words
to help me think.

Helpless?
Frail. Weak. In steady decline.
Yet held.
Cradled in the hands of
the One who holds stars–
and hearts, too.
Resting in the shadow
of the Almighty.

He doesn’t jump to resolve. Or rescue. The psalmist is moving through his pain and fear.
Moving through the murk, into trust.
He knows who God is.
And cries out to Him.
