Weaving Gray

These rainy days seep in;
Drops soak the thoughts underneath.
Ink greedily sips them.
Reason slowly bleeds
Into the beauty of the blend.

Perhaps this means I’ve sinned,
But God hangs on regardless;
My ever constant, stalwart friend
While I fail every hard test
With flying colors every time.

He piles grace upon my crimes.
I get to breathe, even smile.
These thoughts, once maligned,
Are washed from the vile
By the gracious rain He pours on me:
A touch of clean, a taste of free.

Gray holds all the beauty of gold.

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