Layla* said “there’s not enough ink.”
And what she said is what I think.
There are not enough words to describe the feelings buried deep and suppressed.
Somehow it’s not enough to just say I’m depressed.
All I know is that I’m so tired, in every way a person can be.
Drained physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
I guess the seeds I unintentionally sowed were really the heartiest of weeds.
They took root and choked out anything and everything good.
You say to come to You and You will give me rest,
Yet even when I try to pray, I often feel such distress.
These words are hollow,
like the feeling harbored deep in my chest.
And as I sink deeper beneath these waves,
I hear a whisper that He is there even in the depths.
He made the sea and He made me.
He knows both intricately.
No height nor depth – not even the Mariana trench –
can clutch me from His fist so carefully clenched.
There may not be enough ink,
but there is enough grace and mercy to keep me from the going beyond the brink.
The sea swallows sin, but it won’t swallow me.
There’s not enough ink, but there is enough of Him.
*Layla is a good friend of mine. She wrote a poem that contained the phrase “there’s not enough ink” and ever since she shared that poem with me, the phrase comes to my mind as an accurate description of how I sometimes feel. Her poem, as well as her love and the fact that she continually points to God, inspired this version.
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