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Cornered

In our smallness, maybe we think God's hand is just too big to grasp.

Awe the monstrosities our hands can shape can only do their best.
Then brick upon brick upon brick, thick walls and hard to open doors
go as planned, cathedrals, marvels, with aisles toward tabernacles.

And then,
God is where we finally know where God always is.

Trapped.
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Monday, March 11, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: faith,god
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