I walk through these dead streets forever.
The wind blows in gusts
that pierce my defenses. 
Helpless, without control,
luminous, transparent.
My past is brought to life, not the way
I’d like it shown.

And now the trumpet sounds
and faces turn
as the judgment is being announced.
But when the curtain falls,
You’re there to fold me in your arms.

This much I hope you know:
It will take a long, long time
to make me whole.
There were terrible years,
tales I cannot tell just yet.
Please wait for me to reveal
all that I must be free of.
Bare pastures, dark gardens of pain.

Our love is a blessed thing,
spreading through leafy branches.
The trees of our forest arch and bend
but do not break.
I can believe for the first time
there is grace and peace in store for me.

At the end of the pathway there is a door,
the door we will walk through together
into the most beautiful weather,
some day.
This is my prayer.