The King. God. Poem by Sandra jacks

You cry out to me,
'Save me! save me! ',
I hear you my children,
I hear your broken hearts that need mending,
for they are as opened as wounds on the battle field,
I am your king,
and as such will declare myself to save you,
but you fear what you have not seen,
and you run from me,
when I call out to you,
you hide from me,
and through I see you,
it is not yet time to heal your wounds,
For until you recognize me,
what will healing do to you,
but enable repetition,
so I shall be patient,
of my own,
I have pain in your sufferings,
but I am not a forceful king,
So indeed,
I shall wait.