The Handles Are Knives

And I'm standing as still as I can

But the stiller I stand the more it all moves.

Forgiveness is moving too,

It is something I can only glimpse.

I run

For the door

For the handle

To escape

To flee the enemy

But the door is made of glass 

And the handle is a knife

All I can do is stand and stare

At my salvation

On the other side

All that I could be

Is not what I am

I stand

My hand gripping the blade

Turmoil behind me

Calmness in front,

I can't do it.

I run

Into the door

But the glass doesn't break

And the knife draws blood.

But the hurt is not as painful as the turmoil behind.

I can't do it.

I fight to stop my authority flight

I want to give myself up,

I want to hear the sweetness,

Hear my salvation.

The beautiful sound that shatters glass,

Melts the blade, 

Commands my turmoil, "Cease!"

The room explodes

It is not longer my fight

I am calm, peaceful, redeemed.

I can't do it.

I don't understand it.

I fight to trust it.