Pockmarks (PTSD)

stephenhufman.com

Long gone steps

Searing memories from the past
They crash into living
Making life die once more.
Swept up in their painful embrace
There is no running only hiding
Till it burns down but never out.
Gathering strength waiting to rise.

Can God turn yesterday back,
Free me from my past?
He anoints my head with oil.
I let Him have my pockmarks,
Trusting Him to mold history.
He makes my enemy a footstool for His feet,
And holds me in His lap.

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