The Dove

Black tar on my feathers,
I am bound and cannot fly,
The warm breeze is blowing,
As I look up into the sky.

My feet are tired and sore,
As I wobble round and round,
This tar gets too heavy,
I face plant to the ground.

Death is coming near,
I can feel it in my bones,
It is my greatest fear,
For me to die all alone.

Then, I have a perception,
This seems all surreal,
A nice man spots my suffering,
I don’t know how to feel.

He lifts me up for a cuddle,
His hands are firm and strong,
With his gentle voice,
He asks me what went wrong.

I can’t muster up an answer,
But that is all okay,
He tells me my own story,
Of how I got this way.

He shares of how I could,
Rise and fly up high,
I believe all he says,
Suddenly, my wings are clean and dry.

I will never forget my savior,
The one who found me this day,
I now fly forever forgiven,
For I have been remade.

Published by Jenn Till Lee Copyrighted, all rights reserved.

Writing poems as an outlet for healing. My hope is in Christ

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