"it soars and flies, and then it sings."

I started this poem in late May; I'm still not sure it's finished. It's happened as a response to some.. stuff. I was in a nasty funk, sulking in my room.  I didn't know how to get out of the mood, which plunged me into a worse mood.  I grabbed my sketchbook and instead of drawing, I started writing.  I found that as I allowed the rhythm of the words to come out I began to break free.  As the poem changed, God changed my heart with it. 

Stormy skies.  A scattered heart.

I still struggle through this last part.

The hatred gone, but an ache remains.

Are shakings merely growing pains?

I’ve said goodbye a thousand times

And written out much more in lines.

I despise the longings and the whist,

My mind poisoned by what is missed.

Like mist, like fog, like vapor—gone.

Just trust. Remember why ‘twas wrong.

Then why, my heart, do you mourn?

And why this sense of being torn?

Does redemption feel like broken wings?

No, it soars and flies, and then it sings.

So sing, little heart.  Now, sing a song;

Sing out loud and clear and strong. 

Bring life into this bending reed—

Not strife, not fear, nor spiteful deed.

When healing comes, walls shall melt,

And then with truth I’ll be rebuilt.

Not like a tower strong, an island rock,

But as a raindrop or garden without lock.

Freedom feels like a small child’s song—

Like love, like peace, like nothing’s wrong.