holy walls

The words, they sound like a truckload of bricks,
Dropped in the lap, unexpected and unknown.
What to build with these statements, fragments, and bits,
Perceptions from a friend, opinions of this someone.

Meant as keen kindness, a critical aid,
Insights that burn the soul, sharp and deep.
Two roads unveiled by these lips unfurled,
Which way should the soul choose to creep?

The first road is known, worn from much use,
It has tempted many times the wounded heart.
Along its path word-bricks are stacked to protect,
Against any who would come to leave their mark.

The second path leads to an unfinished home,
Humble roses line this blessed road.
Forgiveness marks the gate that cannot close,
When brave hearts choose to carry in their heavy loads.

Slowly, wisely the house it is built by choice,
As word-bricks are brought and make walls.
These rooms hold hearts cured of selfish will,
Submitted lives, forgiven from all fault.

Life will be lived on one of two trails,
One lonely, walled in pain and isolation.
Or the humble road that leads scarred souls home,
To turn bitter word-bricks into a holy nation.