The Voice

the accountability of a thousand mistakes oppresses my mind
like a weight upon my chest, slowly crushing my lungs
but I’m afraid to exhale these piling regrets
because I feel it will all tumble out with no sense of subtlety.

there’s a daunting whisper lurking inside that I can’t erase my fears
nor the memory of my fears because they still exist,
buried deep within yet they rush like a flood to my heart
at the slightest lurch of change.

comfortability is the couch like opportunity is the door,
a door that frequently opens and closes
while a Voice calls my name from the hallway,
but I am so afraid of what lies beyond the door.

the destination is a precious jewel to be coveted,
but the journey is a cave of trial and tribulation
and my uncertainty is the barrier I don’t dare to break
because of my fear.

the pressure of the past is killing me
and I’m determined to remain on my couch,
living with a false view that this is best for me
while the Voice calls from the hallway of a hundred open doors.

soon this sense of comfortability is uncomfortable in itself
as I lay awake at night with a barricade of growing regrets
and wonder if I’m missing out on something greater,
but I am continually wrestling my fears.

the Voice is louder now but I refuse to listen
to the plans in store if I would only pass through a door
though there’s a minuscule crack in the walls circling my heart,
a crack the Voice has taken advantage of and slowly pries open.

it’s a lasting process, the prying,
a process I think I’m fighting but there’s a part of me
that thirsts for the drink of life this Voice is feeding me,
the drink that flows with strength within my weakness.

eventually I am ashamed of this state of laziness,
restless to drive my fears back and step through a door
although I realize I cannot do so without the Voice,
so I let Him break my walls and fill my heart with His presence.

He leads me to an open door,
an opportunity to step into a new life, a harder life but a better life,
where uncomfortable situations reign and I’m often tempted to turn back
but He helps me move forward.

my regrets are fingered and tugged upon
when I finally learn to let them go piece by piece,
entrusting the pain I’ve obsessed over for so long
to the Voice.


Author: Savannah

dreamer. wordcrafter. child of the King.

3 thoughts on “The Voice”

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