Gratitude
The Stone Was Rolled For Me
They pierced His hands, thinking they silenced grace. But Love doesn’t die— it waits. Three days of silence did not mean defeat. The tomb held His body, but never His peace. Because He rose, my shame is buried. Because He lives, my soul is carried. He wore the crown of thorns, so I could wear mercy. He bore the cross, so I’d never walk alone. I am the sinner He saw from the tree, still He whispered, “This one belongs to Me.” And now, when dawn breaks on Easter’s hush, I don’t just remember— I rejoice. The stone was rolled, not to free Him, but to show us— He’s already won.
By Carolina Borges2 years ago in Poets
He Loved Me First
I found love first in silence— not in a voice, but in presence. God met me where loneliness tried to make a home. And that’s when I learned love doesn't need touch to hold you. From that well, I drank enough to recognize the eyes of a man who didn’t try to fix me— just stayed. Romantic love followed like dawn follows prayer— soft, certain, warm without demanding warmth back. He held the echoes of the divine without trying to replace it. Then came the third. A heartbeat placed in my arms, a name that called me “home” before she could speak. And I knew — love completes itself when it multiplies. The world says start with romance, chase the high. But I found the order matters. Without God, you mistake infatuation for fate. You raise children with half a heart. But with God— every kind of love becomes whole.
By Carolina Borges2 years ago in Poets
