The Shore of Peace
Where waves meet sand, I search for signs of you—
Not in the foam-traced edges of retreat,
But in the space between what's false and true,
Where grief and grace impossibly compete.
Isaiah whispers through this salted air:
The righteous are taken and none ask why.
They're not cursed by darkness, but instead to spare
Their souls from the shadow of evil's eye.
Cold comfort in the theology of loss,
When memory replays your final choice.
The scripture's wisdom feels like bitter gloss,
Until I hear beneath it, your clear voice:
"I've found my rest beyond the breaking waves,
Where peace outweighs the sum of all my days."
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.