Skip to content
Potential For Prosperity

Tribute to Hope

Page 119 of 1192 min read

A tribute to Hope

I once was a kid lost in his mind

When the best thing I could do was simply just rhyme

Take the words that I hear in my head as I cried

Write them down in a journal to make me feel right

But it wasn’t about the words on the page

It didn’t matter how much Of this shame

Sat on my shoulders and made me to blame

Because a light shines through and this light it was great

truly was a inspiration of hope

Dug not from inflammation, not from my throat

It wasn’t a voice it wasn’t what I wrote

It was a hand held out waiting for a note

I thought it was His I thought he was waiting

But I was scared so I sat there debating

If I should go for it or leave me delaying

The inevitable words that were leaning and weighing

So I grabbed my journal and wrote hopeful verses

About my life and how I avoided the cursed

How I drove away the pain and found such a purpose

That maybe these words would one day make all this worth it

I couldn’t stop getting this image of a hand out of my head

Waiting for someone to hand Him the lead covered page folded on my bed

I thought and I pondered about His hand above

I ended up believing it was The Saviors hand, he just wanted love

But then I felt it again and didn’t feel any scars. There wasn’t a needle hole no not a mark.

So I took a step back and realized my mistake

As I opened this messy written crumpled up page

I hadn’t read it yet I didn’t know what had laid

On this mysterious white and black thing, but it felt like fate

I opened and read as I fell to the floor

I cried and I wept as I grabbed on my drawer

I looked up and realized that hand from before

It wasn’t his it wasn’t the Lords

It was mine waiting for an answer as I knocked on the door

And this note that I wrote that was scarred with wet stains

Was from Him and he wrote through the storms and the rain

It was wet with His Blood and His Pain it was made

To deliver unto me redemption from shame It was hope, and from then on I was never the same.

Because now I have grown to learn hope comes with change

That I decide to have hope it’s a choice grown from flames

That when I follow the Lord into his home, his safest place

I can find this hope, and now and forever I’ll do whatever it takes.

The pages that sat outside the chapters — essays, habits, and the ones that found their way back.