I have beaten the odds.
Vanquished death twice.
Why then is it so hard
To simply love?
Nay, tis not love
Trust is the vanquisher.
Swinging its hammer
That I
Should believe
I Am
Loveable
Worthy
It will be.
The smallness of my heart
Mirrored in childlike hands.
From one who conquered death
Sent the odds tumbling in retreat
With eyes lifted
Body bowed
A simple whisper
To You.
“Hold my hand.
Hold my hand until
I can believe.”
“Now?” asks the whisper.
Yes….. Now.
But hold my hand.
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