To a Weary Saint: On Scars

The scars laid on you these years–

Ragged flesh wrenched with

Brokenness and humanness, which are one,

Turning slowly to pink and white ridges

Which pang still with old pain

And striped over with new wounds–

The scars will be the thin places

Where glory blazes through your skin

Chorusing the Name so loud

Like to burst from your center with the heaviness of light

What you have suffered for will be shown all fire and beauty

That hurts, almost, to look at

Grieve them not, footsore saint

He will draw brightness from your soul’s bruises


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