Art, ascension, change, Children, Christ, Community, Connection, God, love, Messages, poet, Poetry, spirituality

THE HAND.

THE HAND.

They didnt treat her well so she became
a better person.
They didnt approve of her
so she tried to prove herself.
They blamed her, so she took on
all responsibility.
He didnt answer, so she could not let go.
Thinking, dwelling, convinced she could not meet you, your needs, herself, anyone, anything.
Was she flawed.
Was she too closed, open, wounded – so she changed and changed and changed.
Yet nothing changed.
Other than the shattering of time.

All this.

For a while it made her too soft, too hard, everything and nothing at all.
Not knowing what was wrong with her.
Broken beyond perhaps.
Cursed.
Maybe she wasn’t loveable.
Maybe she didn’t deserve love.

She couldn’t even weep any longer.
Tears dried up.
Like a sponge sitting on a shelf for all eternity.
Yet no thing worked.
She most definitely tried.
It was like trying to wash with no water.
Expecting to be clean.

It was never her pain, challenge or task to bear.
Yet she couldn’t see.
She held herself, body limp, no strength left to try.
Something awakened her to the truth.
A clear sign.
She poured deeply into her very own cup and vowed never to abandon herself ever again.

A miracle she is, was and always had been.
Strength pouring through her veins.
That was when life changed.
For she knew she was the one.
This could never and would never ever be taken away.
Even in death.
Eternal light.
Eternal love.
Breath.
Life.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

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