Miracle

I am not here to tell tales Merely not a tale teller I have had  frailties that caused me fails Yet I am held in the hands of the maker Who is never counting on my inconsistencies or foolery Not even my falls Rather I am very often hand picked into glory Such that I

WITH MY SINS AND LOVE

At the Lord’s feet

Thorned & Unclad

He,the rose with the scent of existence,he whose potion is Peace The most beautiful,most powerful flower whom on its petals lay healing, Wholeness Tendered by he whom he is ,who caused Angels with mights and Humans with spirits to existence Pressured to death for debts he owed not ,willfully bringing pleasures such as no means