The Story I Find Myself In
In an instant it all changed; blink of an eye and nothing is the same;
It's as if I've been ripped from one story and dropped into the next …
I didn't choose the story I find myself in.
It's an effort just to catch my breath; so unannounced are matters of life and death;
It's as if I've been torn from the pages of my story and yet …
I didn't choose the story I find myself in.
There's no denying, the darkest hour has dawned; I'm free-falling from where I've belonged;
It's as if my story has turned on me, my broken heart pleads …
I didn't choose the story I find myself in.
But Faith calls me to make the most of it; He promises to make the most of it;
Believing, I'll make the most of it; Waiting. Watching. Expecting.
I will embrace this story I find myself in.
Every so often, prose reaches its limit. A thought refuses to become an essay or a story. It insists on becoming a poem instead. These are those moments… when prose isn’t enough.
DARIN MICHAEL SHAW 