RISEN
There’s a tear in the veil,
as small as a pin,
but through it, I see
what others keep in.
Death tried to grab me.
I was left with the sight
to glimpse the unseen,
and seek truth in the light.
I can’t see the ghosts
or their spirits aflame.
But I carry a whisper
that I can’t yet name.
I walk through these rooms
so silent with sound,
like a ghost in a garden,
barely unbound.
It’s a gift, my cross,
this soul I’ve been given…
to see through the veil
towards the one who is risen
gracearmstrong.art 