I pick it up, this Book of pages
as I read, my soul engages
with the One who wrote the words.
I cried to You, for help, O LORD
and this is what you bring, a sword . . .
cutting, discerning thoughts and intents
I read a prayer, a David psalm
and what he writes is healing balm,
ointment poured on open wounds.
The Ancient Words have done their work
and found the pain and fear that lurk
within my cold and lonely heart.
Spirit words, so old yet new
found me, showed me what to do
and now . . . I kneel . . . and worship.
© Andrea Dawn Olsen - 15 August 2011
