Well, how can I tell what I only hope to know?
How can I taste what my eyes refuse to see?
How can I let myself trust what I don’t rely on?
The heart? The deceitful heart.
You say a heart redeemed can counsel in the night.
But how far redeemed can it be to be perfectly right?
I know my heart deceives me and so I do not trust.
The heart. The hopeful, hopeful heart.
Is this wrong? Too protective? To guard the wellspring of life?
How does one remain open and vulnerable while guarding this well?
Is it a picket fence instead of the grand cement wall
That encumbers me.
I remember that there was a door.
They said their sister was not a wall anymore.
But a door that at the correct time could be opened.
And thus it is so.
My heart is a door. So opened or closed.
Swinging shut for protection or open for air.
Sunshine is welcome, but the elements protected
From the sweet, underlying hopeful, counseling, redeemed deceitful heart.
2005 Sarah Weichhand
1 comment:
ah, my friend. i am glad i went back and looked up this post. so good. good thoughts.
what story are you alluding to about the sister being a door rather than a wall, btw?
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