Diseased
Sores bloomed on my soul—
a garden of pain,
thorned with worry,
tended by doubt.

Anxieties gnawed the edges of my mind,
each thought a wave
crashing against fragile faith.

Diseased.
I exhaled despair
onto the ulcers
that blistered my skin—
a silent cry only heaven heard.

Then,
His Spirit gathered me
like a wind gathers ashes.
In the hush of His Presence,
I was not condemned—
I was cleansed.

My spirit, once bound,
now shouted:
Victory.
Freedom.
Peace.

The sores on my soul
simmered into silence,
their fire quenched
by mercy.
I emerged—
clean,
pure,
whole.

My mind, once a battlefield,
now rested in light.
My soul, once silenced,
began to hum its healing.
My spirit realigned,
cradled in the rhythm of grace.

La, la, la—
my spirit danced.

Li, li, li—
my soul replied.

And my body—
once weary—
now moved
to the tempo of testimony:
Hallelujah.