I held out my hands and I said to the one above, "Behold I am not perfect. But it is to you I bring my soul." There is nowhere else to go. The blood has been spilt and the die has been cast. And so I carry my cross until there is nothing left. Up the hill I go. Stumbling and falling. Waiting and watching. Knowing and hoping. The world turns again. I hope to mend. But I cannot begin to weave the thread. Forward is the only way.

And so I take the path of Faith. Where weariness and strength ever see the light of day.

© Jillian Alexandria Weiss