Ash marks the face where the image was lost;
dust marks the skin once shaped from it.
Ash marks the doors to these bodies of dirt;
grace marks the scars skinned upon it.
Death marks the flesh once inspired by Life;
Life pays the cost to respire it.
Steps mark the knees bent upon them in prayer;
hope marks the soul there repining.
Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.
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The Consolations of Writing 