One. Two. Three.
The path is obscured by a swirl of fictile mist.
Your light refracts in the density, pooling dimly on the earth.
Flowers emerge from the root-stippled loam.
A dampness rests in the silence, hydrating growth.
Fibers of tree bark bristle and fray in the wind.
Life accrues strength beneath a verdant canopy.
The kingdom breathes.
My nature is different though.
I am fallen and etched with limitation.
I am predestined prey.
Fear seeps into vertebrae.
It hardens skin and stirs in my gut.
It is sinister and consuming.
One. Two. Three.
My vows are certain.
You, too, are certain.
Yet I flee the flock, flee your shear.
Darkness has carved a hollow in my chest.
The chill of night bites at my limbs.
I stumble in their numbness, my emptiness.
The lurker smells my frailty.
I will be trampled like flowers.
My bones will be ground to dust.
I cannot see You.
Can you see me?
One. Two. Three.
You hear the sparrow's call of my soul.
You weave through a rustling sea of spades.
You stir the mist, brighten the path.
I don't. You do.
I can't. You can.
I am not. You are.
Venom is rendered water.
Arrows and fangs fall blunt, powerless.
Fear is broken on your knee.
You pull me up from the earth.
You bring me to a spacious place.
And we walk.
One. Two. Three.
My Savior's footfalls are true.
He is faithful in the forest.
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