stress-related illness | Scripturally Speaking

In earth a cold harsh path
Had been mapped to feel my feet,
Carved especially for me the ruts,
Groove often ran most deep.

Residing in a violent storm
Black sludge encased my limbs,
Offering to smother me,
Yet He produced a hymn.

Attuned only to that song
Anchored firmly in my heart,
Shadows might have overtaken me.
But I was meant to whistle in the dark.

She says I tend to stir the soul
Unaware the spoon within my grasp,
Noticing too late the moments,
Tangled solidly within my clasp;

As a murderer stands heedless
To the blood upon his hands,
As a lover lies his passion spent,
Incognizant the thorns upon the land.

Oblivious to markers obvious,
Simply noted by an ordinary mind,
Mid-event I’m visionless,
Maybe I was by His Grace made blind.

Experience lies fixed I find,
Dwelling soundly in my being,
As I am rendered only feeling,
Sightless I am seeing.

Impetuous is flip side
Of spontaneously kind,
Fanciful a weakness
Until one must escape the time.