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Literature Text
Prodigal shoes worn out long ago
Holes in the soles filled with dust and mire
That I've been standing in for years
Lust, deceit, filth mixed in with tears
Prodigal shoes worn out long ago
Are they enough to take me home?
But I am greeted at the gate,
On the way to the door
He told me I don't need these anymore.
And with His tender scarred hands
The rotten bonds He removed,
And the mire washed away
In His Blood.
So barefoot I tred on Holy ground
Restored by the King
To dance
In His courts of Love and triumphant grace.
I remember how I heard the call
That brought these prodigals shoes home...
Grace.
Holes in the soles filled with dust and mire
That I've been standing in for years
Lust, deceit, filth mixed in with tears
Prodigal shoes worn out long ago
Are they enough to take me home?
But I am greeted at the gate,
On the way to the door
He told me I don't need these anymore.
And with His tender scarred hands
The rotten bonds He removed,
And the mire washed away
In His Blood.
So barefoot I tred on Holy ground
Restored by the King
To dance
In His courts of Love and triumphant grace.
I remember how I heard the call
That brought these prodigals shoes home...
Grace.
My life. A poem about the grace I could never have deserved.
© 2007 - 2024 gracelikerain316
Comments12
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You pull freshness out of things I thought were long since dust and triteness.
Or in less coherent sentences of joy: This poem makes me roll around in fits of apcolyptic joy.
Rotten bonds and tender scarred hands. I'm huggint his poem and spinning it around. You can't see it, but I am.
Or in less coherent sentences of joy: This poem makes me roll around in fits of apcolyptic joy.
Rotten bonds and tender scarred hands. I'm huggint his poem and spinning it around. You can't see it, but I am.