Time

A prayer for the left behind

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