Does anyone feel like poetry?

Ghost.

A Soul's Walk

From here
on the floor
with the grains of the wood
and the stains of blood
and whiskey
from here is where I rise.

Splinters in the wood
and scratches all around
become the grain of life
and so we find a path
and pattern
in the most unlikeliest of places–
on this floor.

There are lines that speak of order
even down so low as this
and it is God’s sweet grace
to open our eyes that we might see
the lines beneath the whiskey
and dirt
and blood.

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