saints of diminished capacity


    I only saw the words written,
    requiring me to infer tone;
    to assume either compassion
    or conceit; to decide if the poet
    mimed quotation marks when
    he said, “diminished capacity,” —
    or saints, for that matter —
    if he even said the words out loud.

    Either way, the phrase is
    fragrant with failure, infused
    with what might have been,
    what came and went,
    what once was lost . . .
    and now is found faltering,
    struggling, stumbling,
    still hoping, as saints do,
    failure is not the final word.

    Forgiveness flows best from
    brokenness; the capacity for
    love is not diminished by
    backs bowed by pain, or
    hearts heavy with grief.
    Write this down: the substance
    of things hoped for fuels
    those who walk wounded:
    we are not lost; we are loved.



    1. This is really powerful. The last verse in particular about knocked me over. And I needed to hear that word today. Thank you.

    2. Joy just stated, word for word, what I came here to say. You do not even know how you have helped me this day. Thank you.

      Unilove aka Lisa

      P.S. I quoted that last paragraph in a blog post of mine with attribution. I truly hope that is okay.

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