Feed

He appears where heaven kisses the earth,
clothed not in gold, but in grace.
A man whose presence feels like morning,
whose soul reflects God's divine light.
His voice is not loud,
yet it quiets every storm within me.
It carries the warmth of a thousand sunrises,
the calm of gentle waves meeting the shore,
a whisper that reminds my weary heart
it is finally safe to rest.
When he gathers me into his arms,
my fragile body no longer trembles.
His embrace becomes a sanctuary,
woven with mercy, strength, and peace.
In his hands, I am no longer broken
I am held.
The world may rage beyond us,
but within his love there is stillness.
The fears I carried so long
fall silently to the ground,
because his heart has become
the refuge I prayed for.
If heaven has a language,
I believe it sounds like his laughter.
If grace could take human form,
I believe it would wear his face.
Not because he is perfect,
but because through him
I catch a glimpse of God's endless love.
So let me remain here,
wrapped in the warmth of his spirit,
where peace replaces fear,
where hope outshines darkness,
and where my fragile heart remembers
that even after every storm,
God still sends light
and sometimes,
that light arrives in the form of a man.