The Spirit

The spirit stands strong - the candles aflame
It wakes in prayer - in heavens name.

But muscles tire - eyes fall shut
Will alone - wont stand the cut.

Between the pain and failing breath.
Would I choose faith - until death?

His grace descends when strength runs dry.

Lord, my soul it longs to try.


Published by Smith Shine Poetry

I am my poetry, my poetry is me. I pray what I believe. I believe what I pray.

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