Every step is encumbered by the weight of my pain.
Every day seems an eternity, drawn out by the heaviness of sleepless nights.
Every flash of light in this world is shadowed by a growing dark.
Every spark seems so temporary in the flood of oppression.
The joy of a workday’s end is quickly snuffed out by morning.
It all gets quite overwhelming, does it not? But things will not always be thus.
My grandparents made it out. So can I. Lord, STRENGTH, I pray, to hold on until the end.
Thank You for the promise of Heaven. Some days that’s all I have, but that’s enough.
In the grand scheme of forever, this life is but a morning fog, burning off at midday.
Yeah, I can make it.
Broken People 