This stretch you have laid out with your righteous hand
An illusion to none but You
It feels like chains some days, enough rope to hang my soul upon
But you made it
So it works
It trundles on
Regardless
Tick
I miss the point of it.
This road you have spoken into being with your truthful Word
A journey to all but You
It feels like you’ve drawn a ring around your people
A shrinking ring
It squeezes
Things leave me behind
Regardless
Tick
You are the point of it.
Words and photography by Chris George
© 2026 Chris George