the Whisperer whispers, and my storm runs out of itself

digital art RN

Weeping may endure a night but Joy will blaze thru your morning,” ( Psalms scream via Time & all tempest) while

the Whisperer Himself sows Newness, like a Vineyard in my soul:

I go and branch like a branch; buds of healing break my wilderness. This cannot be. But it is.

The Whisper tends my dying graveyard like a Helper, a Server. Can all this be? But that’s the deadliest human storm :


Photograph : Don Ricardo, Unsplash

waiting in the Waiting


6 thoughts on ““Rest”

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