Broken Bridges

 

In shadows of doubt where my heart often hides, Where trust lies in pieces on opposite sides, Of canyons carved deep by the waters of pain, I wonder if bridges can be built again.

Each promise once broken, a crack in the floor, Each word left unspoken, a lock on the door, I've gathered these fragments to build up my walls, Protection from those who might cause me to fall.

Yet something still whispers beyond my defense, a voice that cuts through all my practiced pretense: "I've known every wound that has caused you to flee. The trust that you cannot give others, give Me."

In hands that hold galaxies, what is my doubt? In love that moves mountains, what walls can stand proud? The God who sees sparrows when they fall to the ground Sees me in my hiding and still sticks around.

Slowly, I'm learning to open once more, to risk what was broken and what I adore, for trust isn't merely a bridge to repair but the courage to cross it when someone is there.

With each step I'm taking on faith's fragile beams, I'm finding that God holds what humans redeem, And maybe in trusting despite all my fears, I'm finally finding what I've sought for years.

Not a perfect connection that never will break, But grace in the mending after every mistake, For trust isn't absence of doubt, pain, or night, But choosing to walk forward anyway toward the light.