With this broken wing, I no longer can fly. Knowing this, I am left only with the intensity of pain—a perfect match for the deep wound now found down in my heart—it survives with the flooding rain.
Ah…this broken little wing—a very sad thing—I no longer will fly so high in my travels of the deep blue skies. Nor can this truth now rightlybe denied:
This one now shattered, and the other strong one had soared—darting and swift; Now so weak, this little wing lacks in ability and in strength—why it even seems to be missing in its structural confidence.
When I try to fly with this very frail wing, it feels as though, I should (perhaps) just give up on everything. Yet, there is something deep inside which continues to yearn—giving me cause to keep looking up as I wait for another turn.
Dear Lord, I appeal for this broken wing which, I still believe that you can heal. My pain is so great—my concerns sincere. This strange place in which I now sit—I must say, “It feels un-natural and so unreal!”
My little wing was perfected to fly. So where is the healing cure to fortify? I sigh, and realize that if this deal is to be sealed, that it is: “There” where I must put my trust for real. So, patiently, I must adjust as I wait for my time’s healing slate.
For right now though, I just need a quick little mend for this one-wing-thing that has so severely been torn a-part and is now bent.
This is my Prayer and most sincere desire. It starts and then rings out from the deepest depths and the complexities of my heart.