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He Comes

This picture really has nothing to do with it, but it brings me peace.

By Madolyn SanchezPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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See most don’t understand.

They can’t see what I see

Or hear what I hear.

Sometimes it just hurts.

Their words cut deep,

Ripping open my already mended, bloody heart.

How can I just let him in.

Doubt racks my brain, causing the sensation of a continual dripping of water from a leaky roof.

Maybe it’s my past beckoning to me the sweet lullaby of pain.

Placing my hands over my ears, just anything to get rid of the constant tempting of the devil.

How can people live without Him.

He always seems to be there right as I need him.

But sometimes it feels like he’s too far away to save me.

What if today’s different though?

What if He can’t get to me in time?

And right as the darkness seems to sink and I slowly give into my weakness,

He comes.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Madolyn Sanchez

I love stringing random words together and making them sound like they should be together. I used to write a lot and I’m trying to get back into the rhythm of it.

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