“The worst kind of scars are those that cover unhealed wounds; Scars that are still painful to touch, reacting to even the gentlest of caresses with reflexive responses that spit in the faces of good-will and love. But there’s hope for tomorrow and today; Scars must tell their stories, but they should not control destiny.” – Makafui.
“Peace calls out each morning for my attention, promising comfort and strength for the day on the breath of dawn; Sometimes I respond, sometimes I choose to sleep just a little bit more. One too many times I missed the call. The more I missed, the fainter the call became; The more I slept, the harder I became of hearing; Till the morning was silent – silent, but not peaceful. Then Peace thundered and broke the silence when I was on the verge of forgetting what Peace was. May my mornings never be silent, but always peaceful.” – Makafui.
“We’ve come full circle, haven’t we?
In the beginning you were Mine, and I loved you.
I adored and pampered you; you had My presence,
Saw My face, heard My voice. I spoke to you
Among the trees like one to his beloved,
With whispers, and caresses, and warnings;
You were lovely, and innocent and glorious;
You made Me smile, because I looked at what I had made,
And knew it was good; Without blemish, not lacking
In purpose or power, in beauty or wisdom, in love or grace.
You were My delight, My treasure, My pleasure.
“If Grace had a price-tag, there wouldn’t be enough space for the trailing zeros; It is precious even in abundance, and it’s absence is a terrible vacuum – such abject lack that the entirety of creation groans in inexpressible agony.” – Makafui.
To err on the side of love is to be acquainted with pain;
It is akin to the fate of the moth – enthralled by flames
Of compassion, empathy, kindness, patience, humility.
To err on the side of love is to realize
That you do your fair share of dishing out hurt,
Angst, apathy, ire, discord, heart-break, doubt;-
Usually inadvertently, but harmful nonetheless.
There are those whose stories
Are etched on their bodies;
It’s in every untimely wrinkle,
Each inexplicably heavy sigh;
The weight of each step,
The unconscious stoop,
The wary glance,
The weary countenance,
The shallow smile.
One foot in front of the other;
On a diet of milk and honey,
Easy does it, they say,
That’s how to walk.