I lay to sleep and dreamt a dream.

Neither long or short ago

Twas a dream of vague import indeed.

I can’t go back or do a deed

No tools of non-regret.

Those days of past are not for me.

To straighten, untie, or uncoil.

What’s done is done, the sage will say.

Yet why then are they real?

I lay upon my bed of sweat, my confidence they steal.

vengeance will not touch those dreams.

They plague a man like gnats.

All hope that’s gained is softly muted.

Regret comes back too often.

I can’t take back what hurt I’ve caused.

I’m broken in the midst.

But isn’t this what He has said?

“I come to heal what’s broken”.

I lay it out and beg for help.

What can I do alone?

They lost, and this because of me.

My portion, now divided.

Will they know their piece?

Will it even appear?

Will my giving help them now?

What’s done is gone for tools to pry.

Only “now” will bend to hands.

What’s to come is promise.

To this I hold, so bold.

For He who cannot lie.

He’s said, “You’re Mine”.

 

By His Grace.