Raving, maniacal, suicidal and foaming at the mouth.
Roaming, rambling and roaring
His voice reverberated in the wild.
Abandoned by family forsaken by friends,
forlorn, forgotten and rejected by the living.
Dwelling among the dead, the grave was your bed.
Tormented, possessed and hunted.
You cried. He heard.
Crossing a violent lake. He came.
Leaving the ninety and nine
He sought His treasure.
You had no beauty, no trophy, no accolade,
No name, no future, no song but he heard your cry.
There is a place in His heart just for you
There is a yawning void when you are absent
He knows the pain feels it
He is climbing over the vast chasm
He is your balm your ointment
He is the time keeper of the universe.
The surgeon without a scapel.
He is the teacher who was never instructed.
The artist who paints on His canvas with words.
He is the chef without a kitchen.
The shepherd who follows you with His eyes.
He is the beginning without a beginning
The ending without an end.
He is...
