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O Boundless Mercy, Matchless Worth: A Hymn of Redemption’s Embrace by Debbie Harris

09 Tuesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Inspirational, Praise

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The poem traces the breathtaking journey of a soul under the gaze of a holy God.It begins with unflinching honesty: Jesus Christ sees everything, every hidden sin, every hypocritical prayer, every tear we refused to cry, and the spiritual death we carried while pretending to live.Yet the moment a person truly repents (when pride finally breaks, when the heart turns back with nothing to offer but its own ruin), everything changes. Mercy pours like an ocean without shores, grace covers completely, and divine love stoops from heaven to embrace the unworthy. The Judge Himself becomes the sacrifice, paying the price on Calvary.No earthly treasure or human achievement can compare to this gift: to be completely known in all our shame, yet completely loved, forgiven, cleansed, and (astonishingly) crowned with heavenly honor.In short, the poem celebrates the heart of the gospel: God’s boundless mercy and matchless grace transform the most broken sinner into a beloved, glorified child welcomed home forever.

Our Savior sees the hidden stain,
The secret sin, the silent shame;
Each thought that shuns the light of day,
Each wandering step that went astray.

He knows the heart that feigned to pray,
The lips that lied, the hands that strayed;
He marks the tears we never shed,
The living death where hope has fled.

Yet when the broken spirit turns,
When pride dissolves and sorrow burns,
When empty hands at last confess
Their ruin and unrighteousness—

Then mercy, like a boundless sea,
Flows from the throne of Calvary;
Then grace, unmeasured and unstinted,
Covers the soul once foul and tainted.

Love bends the heavens, comes down low,
To kiss the brow once bent with woe;
The Judge becomes the Ransom price,
And God Himself is sacrifice.

No gift beneath the stars above,
No treasure born of human love,
Can match this wonder, pure and free—
Redeeming grace on Calvary’s tree.

O boundless mercy, matchless worth!
The greatest gift on sinful earth:
To be fully known, yet fully loved,
Forgiven, cleansed, and crowned in heaven above.

Maranatha by Debbie Harris

09 Tuesday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Rapture

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The night is wide, yet one star holds its place,
a silver promise nailed against the sky;
the dark is deep, but dawn has touched its face
and left a quiet light for every eye.
The cold is fierce, yet somewhere spring lies curled
within the secret heart of the frost;
a single word still trembles through the world
and will not let one living thing be lost.

Maranatha.
Come, Dayspring, rise with healing in Thy wings,
come, Root of Jesse, bloom where winters cease;
come, Key of David, open hidden things
and set Thy captives into sudden peace.
Come, quiet Breath upon the waters blown,
and make the chaos hear Thee and be still;
come, set the longing heart upon Thy throne
and be the rest that only love can fill.

Maranatha.
The table waits with cup and living bread,
the lamps are trimmed, the bridal door ajar;
each heartbeat is a footstep in Thy tread,
each sigh a guiding signal to Thy star.
Come, take the cup and break the bread anew,
come, speak the mercy-name we barely dare;
come, turn the water into morning dew
and make the wounded world divinely fair.

Maranatha.
We have no crown but expectation’s fire,
no gift but waiting hands held open wide;
yet every breath repeats the heart’s desire
that soon the Bridegroom claim His waiting Bride.
Come, Morning Star, outshine our brightest sun,
come, Rose of Sharon, flood the desert plain;
come, fairest Lord, until our night is done
and beauty walks the streets of earth again.

Maranatha.
Come quickly, Lord, yet come as Thou know’st best;
come, Jesus, come, and make the whole world sing.
Come, lay Thy hand upon the trembling dust
and turn our winter into endless spring.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come, and we shall see Thy face, Thy glory, Thy eternity. Maranatha. Amen. Even so, come.

Take Heed, Whom You Hear: A Warning and a Call to Be Nobler Than the Bereans by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Summary of the Poem

“Take Heed, Whom You Hear: A Warning and a Call to Be Nobler Than the Bereans”

The poem is a stark warning against false teachers who serve Satan with refined skill. These “ministers” appear polished, eloquent, and attractive, presenting deadly error disguised as truth: poison poured slowly into a beautiful golden cup that tastes, at first, like living water.

It urges extreme caution (“Take heed, take heed”) about whose voice we allow into our hearts, because many speak of Christ and quote Scripture while neither knowing Him nor fearing God. Their message flatters and comforts, but it never convicts or transforms.

In contrast, the poem lifts up the Bereans of Acts 17 as the enduring model: ordinary believers who refused to accept even apostolic preaching at face value. Night after night they searched the Scriptures to verify every claim, turning over every glittering cup to see what was really inside.

The closing call is both a prayer and a resolve:
May we be even more noble than they were; children of the second look; jealous guardians of truth who spill out every honeyed lies and drink only from the pure, plain water of God’s Word, until the day we see Christ face to face.

In essence, the poem is a passionate plea for relentless biblical discernment in an age of sophisticated deception.

The devil keeps his ministers,
polished, soft-spoken, and wise;
they come with velvet syllables,
a smile that never hurts the eyes.
They pour the ancient poison slow
into a cup of beaten gold;
one sip tastes just like living water,
the next leaves the soul stone-cold.

Take heed, take heed, O traveler,
whose heart is hungry heart you feed;
not every voice that speaks of heaven
is climbing there on bended knee.
Some preach a Christ they never met,
and quote the Book they never feared;
their gospel shines like burnished brass
that leaves the ear caressed, not seared.

But there were souls in Berea once
who would not swallow gleaming lies;
they took the word back to the Word
and held it trembling to the skies.
Night after night they searched the page,
noble, stubborn, unafraid,
till every glittering cup was turned
and every lying promise weighed.

So let us be Bereans still,
children of the second look,
refusing honeyed draughts of death
for the plain water of the Book.
Though Satan send his choicest cup
rimmed round with light and rimmed with song,
we’ll spill it out upon the ground
and drink where living waters run.

Lord, make us wary, make us bold,
make us jealous for the truth;
give us hearts that tremble at Thy Word
and hands that will not clasp the smooth.
For every age has its golden cups;
only the Scripture never lies;
so we will search, and search again
until we see Thee with open eyes.

From Heaven’s Throne to Bethlehem’s Manger: A Christmas Hymn for All Ages by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Christmas, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Verse 1
The eternal Light has come to men,
Born in the midnight deep;
The Word made flesh in Bethlehem
Fulfills what prophets keep.
A stable holds the King of kings,
The heavens bow before Him;
All glory be to Christ who brings
Redemption’s open door hymn.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 2
The shepherds heard the angel throng
Proclaim the wondrous birth;
They hastened where the Child was laid
And spread the news on earth.
No palace cradle, straw His bed,
Yet there the Lord reposes;
The Lamb of God, the Living Bread,
In lowly manger closes.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 3
From eastern lands the wise men came,
Led by the star’s bright ray;
With gold and myrrh and frankincense
They worshiped and obeyed.
The Gentile world now finds its King,
The nations see salvation;
Let every tongue His praises sing,
Let every heart’s ovation.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 4
The heavens rang with angel song,
The skies were filled with light;
Yet Mary pondered everything
Within her heart that night.
O silent Mother, full of grace,
Who kept the sacred treasure,
Thy Son shall save the human race
Beyond all time and measure.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 5
The ancient curse is broken now,
The serpent’s head is crushed;
In David’s town, the promised Child
Has hushed the world once hushed.
No more shall darkness hold its sway,
The Dayspring shines forever;
The Light of Life has dawned today,
And night shall fall, no never.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 6
Come, sinner, leave thy guilt behind,
Come, weary, find thy rest;
The Savior born this holy morn
Invites thee to His breast.
The door of mercy open stands,
The feast of love is ready;
Lift high thy voice, lift high thy hands,
Thy Savior comes in steady.

Refrain
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Verse 7
When years have passed and ages roll,
When sun and stars grow dim,
Still shall the Church with one accord
Sing this eternal hymn.
Till Christ shall come in glory bright
To end all earthly story,
We’ll sing through endless day and night:
All glory be His glory!

Refrain (sung twice to close)
Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Glory, glory in the highest,
Peace on earth, good will to men!
Sing, O sing the ageless story:
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

Glory, glory in the highest—
Christ is born in Bethlehem!

“I Will Remember Their Sin No More”A Hymn on the Triumph of Divine Love over Divine Omniscience by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Dec 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, Thanksgiving

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When God beholds the sinner’s scroll,
 He finds no stain remains;
The debt is paid, the breach made whole,
 Forgiven are his chains.

Though every fault lies bare to sight
 Beneath th’ all-seeing eye,
Yet love, more strong than boundless light,
 Refuses memory’s cry.

Omniscience could rehearse the fall,
 Recount each wandering trace;
But mercy overrules it all
 And grants a spotless place.

The Judge who knows all things aright
 Declares the record clean;
For Christ has borne the darkened night
 And washed away the sin.

No charge shall rise on judgment day,
 No guilt shall e’er return;
The Lord who blotted sins away
 Hath sworn He will not turn.

O depth of covenant grace divine,
That love should silence lore!
The past is lost in love’s design—
God remembers sin no more.

Theologia Naturalis Redempta: The Gospel of Redemption Traced through the Groaning Creation by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christ-Created Nature, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Summary of
Theologia Naturalis Redempta
(The Gospel of Redemption Traced through the Groaning Creation)

The poem presents the entire gospel story as it is silently preached by the created world itself, from Genesis to Revelation.

It begins before creation, with the eternal Word and Love already present, then shows how every element of nature was designed from the beginning to be a living parable of Christ and His redemptive work.

  • Stars, leaves, and light bear the signature of the Lamb who was “slain from the foundation of the world.”
  • Innocent lambs, barren fig trees, toil-free lilies, and fed ravens act as living sermons on sin, judgment, providence, and grace.
  • The central agricultural images (sower and soils, wheat and tares, the single grain that dies to bear much fruit, the bleeding Vine and its pruning) retell the parable of the cross and resurrection: Christ’s death is the only way to abundant spiritual harvest.
  • Storm and wave bowing to Jesus reveal His sovereign lordship even in the chaos introduced by the fall.
  • Creation itself is then shown “groaning” under the curse, waiting with eager longing for the revelation of the sons of God and the final liberation of nature at Christ’s return.
  • The poem closes in the new creation: the curse reversed, the Tree of Life healing the nations, the river flowing from the throne, and God Himself as the light—no temple, no night, only the unveiled glory of the Lamb.

Thus nature is never a neutral backdrop; it is a book written by the same finger that wrote Scripture. From the first dawn to the final morning, every meadow, storm, seed, and star has been proclaiming one message: the dying and rising of the Word made flesh, the redemption accomplished and the creation made new through the blood of the eternal Lamb.

In short, the poem argues that if we have ears to hear and eyes to see, the whole groaning, glorious world is one long, unbroken sermon on the everlasting gospel of Jesus Christ.

Before the worlds were framed, the Word was there,
And Love, unmade, breathed life through empty air.
The Spirit brooded o’er the formless deep
Till light, obedient, from the darkness leaped.
Each star a seal, each leaf a living line,
Proclaims the Lamb whose blood would write divine.

The lamb that frisks at dawn upon the lea
Already knows the Shepherd soon to be;
The fig-tree, cursed for barrenness, confesses
That fruitlessness invites the storm of curses.
Yet lilies, clothed in glory without toil,
Outshine the pomp of Solomon’s proud spoil.

Behold the ravens: neither barn nor field
Yet find their table by the Father filled;
The sower casts his seed on varied ground—
Some choked by thorns, some trampled, some profound;
But where the plow of grace has broken sod,
One grain, in dying, multiplies to God.

The wheat and tares in mingled beauty spring
Till angels reap with sickles of the King;
The grain of wheat must fall and lose its name
Lest it abide alone in barren shame.
From that small death the bread of heaven springs—
Five thousand fed, and twelve full baskets’ gleanings.

The Vine is bleeding on the terraced hill;
The branches that abide are pruned until
More excellent the clusters grow, and press
The wine of joy for heaven’s marriage-feast.
The waves that roared in fury cease to rave
And lay their heads, like children, at His feet to lave.

Creation groans beneath the ancient curse,
In travail waits the universe’s nurse;
The rocks stand ready, should our praise grow dumb,
To shout the triumph of the Age to come.
Yet soon the curse shall vanish like a scroll,
And morning break upon the ransomed whole.

Beneath the Tree whose leaves shall heal mankind
The river flows, no serpent now to bind;
No night shall fall, no temple need the sun,
For God Himself shall be their Light, the Lamb the throne.
All nature, once a parable of grace,
Shall see her Lord unveiled and face to face.

Thus from the first creation to the new
The Gospel shines the wounded landscape through:
Not writ in ink, nor graven upon stone,
But living in the flesh that veils the throne;
Beholds His glory, full of truth and grace—
The Word made flesh, who took our mortal place.

Amen.

When Pulpits Are Full of Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing by Debbie Harris

24 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Spiritual Warfare

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The poem is a stark warning against false teachers and hypocritical leaders who hide predatory motives behind religious appearances.

It paints the image of wolves dressed as gentle pastors who use Scripture, soft words, and promises of blessing to manipulate, guilt-trip, and financially exploit vulnerable believers. Beneath polished sermons and smiling faces lie greed, control, and spiritual abuse.

The true Shepherd (Christ) is contrasted with these impostors: He was the Lamb who was slain and still bears scars; the wolves only pretend to carry His marks while they devour the flock.

The urgent call is to the Church: wake up, test every spirit, and return to the authentic voice of the Good Shepherd. When pulpits are occupied by deceivers, genuine safety and guidance are found not in impressive buildings or charismatic leaders, but in personal intimacy with Jesus—alone with the Scriptures and the Holy Spirit, on your knees, listening for the One who knows and calls His sheep by name.

In short: Discern the wolves, reject the counterfeit, and cling only to the true Shepherd who keeps you close and speaks louder than the predators.

The sanctuary glows with stained-glass lies,
soft light on velvet pews,
while at the lectern stands the wolf
in starched collar, gentle voice,
quoting Scripture like a lullaby
to hush the trembling sheep.

He speaks of love with honeyed fangs,
promises heaven for a tithe,
teaches grace while counting coins
beneath the table with clawed feet.
His smile is Sunday-morning bright,
his eyes are midnight counting sheep
not for shepherding,
but for slaughter.

Beware the shepherd who smells of blood
yet wears the fleece of the flock he flees.
His gospel is a gilded trap,
his prayer a noose of pretty words.
He preys upon the widow’s mite,
devours the orphan’s cry,
and calls it ministry.

The true Lamb once was slain;
these wolves merely dress the part.
They howl in minor keys of guilt
and call the trembling “lost,”
then lead the flock to private pastures
where the grass is green with greed.

O Church, awake!
Your watchmen sleep with open mouths
and dreaming teeth.
Test every spirit, weigh each word
against the ancient plumb line
carved by nails into a tree.

When pulpits are full of wolves in sheep’s clothing,
the only safe place left
is on your knees,
not in their sanctuaries,
but in the wild,
where the Good Shepherd still calls
by name,
and knows His own
by scars.

More to Be Desired Are They Than Gold,Yea, Than Much Fine Gold by Debbie Harris

22 Saturday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ Centered Devotionals, Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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The poem is a single, soaring hymn of praise to the Holy Bible as the living, life-giving Word of God.

It begins with the human soul lying dead in the dust of sin and despair, then shows how the gentle rain of Scripture falls upon that dust and causes new life to spring forth, green, fragrant, and rejoicing.

From there it traces the entire pilgrimage of the believer:

  • The Bible becomes a chain of steady lamps along the dangerous, narrow path, turning midnight into morning.
  • Its promises taste sweeter than wild honey dripping from the rock.
  • When enemies weave nets of lies, Scripture flashes like a sword of fire and sets the captive free.
  • Before dawn, hungry souls rise to meet the Word and find fresh manna, warm and fragrant, every single morning.
  • The heart learns to love God’s commandments more than the richest king loves his glittering treasure, and living rivers burst forth within.
  • Finally, Scripture binds, seals, and nails the soul fast to God, transforming trembling sinners into joyful, unshakable trees planted by rivers of water, whose leaves never wither and whose fruit never fails.

The whole movement is one of resurrection, guidance, delight, deliverance, sustenance, and everlasting fruitfulness, all flowing from the open pages of the Holy Bible. It is a universal prayer that every heart on earth would come to love, trust, and live in this Word that is forever settled in heaven, more precious than thousands of pieces of gold and silver, and able to make the simple wise unto everlasting life.

In short: the poem celebrates the Holy Bible as the inexhaustible treasure that revives the dead, guides the lost, feeds the hungry, frees the captive, and keeps the redeemed forever alive in the presence of God.

Let every heart that once lay prone in dust
be raised beneath the gentle rain of Scripture;
the Holy Bible falls like mercy’s mist,
and withered ribs put on the green of life,
breathing the fragrance of a risen race.

Let every pilgrim faltering on the steep,
where pride’s loose stones betray the trembling foot,
behold the lamps of God’s own Word hung deep
along the narrow way; the sacred page
turns midnight into morning, and each step
rings clear upon the height with heaven’s light.

Let every tongue that hungers taste and say
how verses of the Holy Bible melt
more sweet than honey dripping from the rock;
one line, and barren souls become a sea
of golden wheat beneath a harvest moon,
where quiet winds of peace forever move.

When lying cords are woven through the gloom
to snare the innocent, let Scripture rise
like sudden sunrise on a blade of steel;
the nets fall black and burned, the captives rise
laughing beneath a sky the Word has flung
wide open with its everlasting light.

Before the lark awakes, before the dew
has vanished from the grass, let watchers keep
their silent vigil with the open Book,
and find warm manna broken in their hands,
fresh from the Holy Bible every dawn,
still fragrant with the breath of God Himself.

Let every heart love Scripture more than kings
love coffers heaped with gold and glittering stone;
let living waters from its pages leap
on crystal wings and sweep old sins away.

Bind every soul with cords no storm can sever,
seal every spirit on the arm of Love,
drive every thought like nails the Word drives home;
so shall the trembling stand in perfect peace,
and joy shall clothe them like a wedding dress.

For lo, the Holy Bible stands enthroned
in heaven’s height, a star no darkness dims;
and all who graft their lives upon its truth
become fair trees beside the river of God,
whose leaves shall never fade, whose fruit is sure
through summer’s blaze and winter’s longest night.

Amen.

“Ye Shall Not Add… Neither Shall Ye Diminish”:A Cry Against the Alteration of God’s Holy Word by Debbie Harris

20 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christ-centered poetry, Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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he poem is a fierce, urgent warning that the single most soul-destroying habit a person can adopt is to tamper with the Word of God (adding to it, subtracting from it, softening it, or reinterpreting it to suit human preference).

It portrays such alteration as a slow-acting but lethal poison: a tiny change (one jot, one tittle) seems harmless at first, yet it quietly corrupts the heart, removes the anchor of truth, and ultimately leaves the soul shipwrecked and estranged from God.

Modern attempts to “update” or “humanize” Scripture are exposed as proud rebellion: men making themselves kinder than God and forging a false mercy that becomes an eternal funeral pyre.

The closing charge is absolute: lay down the pen, touch not one syllable, stand in awe and trembling. Better to be broken by the unflinching rod of the true Word than to die smiling under a counterfeit gospel. The words of Scripture are settled forever; to meddle with them is to invite spiritual ruin.

  • Deuteronomy 4:2
    Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it, that ye may keep the commandments of the LORD your God which I command you.
  • Deuteronomy 12:32
    What thing soever I command you, observe to do it: thou shalt not add thereto, nor diminish from it.
  • Proverbs 30:5-6
    Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him. Add thou not unto his words, lest he reprove thee, and thou be found a liar.
  • Joshua 1:7
    Only be thou strong and very courageous, that thou mayest observe to do according to all the law, which Moses my servant commanded thee: turn not from it to the right hand or to the left, that thou mayest prosper whithersoever thou goest.
  • Jeremiah 26:2
    Thus saith the LORD; Stand in the court of the LORD’s house, and speak unto all the cities of Judah, which come to worship in the LORD’s house, all the words that I command thee to speak unto them; diminish not a word.
  • Matthew 5:18-19
    For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled. Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.
  • Galatians 1:8-9
    But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again, If any man preach any other gospel unto you than that ye have received, let him be accursed.
  • Revelation 22:18-19
    For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.

Beware the hand that dares to bend
The living Word to private end;
No poison drips so slow, so sure,
No blade cuts deeper, none more pure
Than subtle change of what God said,
A shifted line, a verse half-dead.

The soul that drinks that altered stream
Will sicken in a silent dream;
First taste seems sweet, the change so small,
A jot, a tittle, that is all.
Yet day by day the fever grows,
Till truth lies bleeding no one knows.

Men call it wisdom, call it light,
To trim the Word for modern sight;
They soften threats, they blunt the rod,
And crown themselves more kind than God.
But mercy forged in human fire
Becomes the soul’s eternal pyre.

I’ve seen the wreck on every shore—
The heart that thought it needed more
Than what was written, plain and clear;
It added comfort, stifled fear,
Then woke to find the anchor gone,
And every star of guidance none.

O trembling hand, lay down the pen,
Let not one sacred syllable bend!
The Book that thunders, “Do not add,”
Still holds the power to make hearts glad
Or break them on the whetstone true;
Its ruin is its healing too.

Touch not the Word, though curiosity burn;
The soul that tampers shall itself be torn.
Better to bleed beneath the rod
Than smile forever estranged from God.
Stand trembling, stand in dust and awe—
The Word is settled. That is all.

To Pray The Impossible by Debbie Harris

20 Thursday Nov 2025

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Inspirational

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The poem portrays praying for the impossible as a daring, almost reckless spiritual adventure. It is an act of extreme faith: standing at the absolute edge of what can be, flinging fragile hope into an abyss, walking a razor-thin line between despair and miracle .Rather than a polite request, such prayer is depicted as trespassing into forbidden territory—barging into heaven’s locked garden, disturbing the sleep of the divine, and demanding what was never meant to be given. Yet the tone is wondrous, not blasphemous: the impossible is personified as something curious, half-awake, even amused by the audacity.In the end, when the impossible actually happens, the breakthrough is overwhelming and humbling. The speaker realizes the true thrill was never in receiving the answer, but in the wild courage to ask for a road where no road could exist. The poem celebrates the sheer adventure of radical, divine and Holy faith.

To pray the impossible is an adventure indeed
a barefoot crossing of a sea that has no other side
where the wind tastes of salt and unfinished psalms
and every heartbeat is a drumbeat against the ribs of God.

You stand at the edge of what cannot be
palms raw from holding questions too heavy for hands
whispering into the dark that refuses to answer back
yet the dark leans closer, curious, almost tender.

It is to fling your small coin of faith
into a night with no bottom
and hear, far below, the faint metallic ring
of something vast turning over in its sleep.

To pray the impossible
is to walk the narrow ridge between despair and dawn
where miracles grow like frost-flowers on the breath
delicate, lethal, unbearably bright.

You become the trespasser on a shore the tide forgot
reaching for fruit that hangs just beyond the stars
and the angels, instead of turning away
lean in, half-smiling, as if they too
have been waiting to see what happens next.

And when the impossible finally cracks open
like a sunrise inside your chest
you will not say “I knew it all along”
you will only fall to your knees
laughing and weeping at once
because the adventure
was never about arriving
but about daring to ask
for a road
where no road
could ever be.