This is the color of my struggle to obey.
It is dramatic, invoking a deep push-and-pull.
This shade of rouge is everlasting in its clarity…
yet not strong enough to keep up with the standard.
I wake up fully aware that prayer should set the bar.
I also wake up with worry times ten million,
and worry therefore bleeds out of my sheets.
My misused hands are soaked in the blood of failure,
and in times of frustration, temptation, and complication,
my defeated hands are soaked in the blood of doubt.
He said he would provide all I needed if I trusted him;
nothing more could soothe and satisfy.
Possibly then, obedience can turn from crimson to gold.
Gold like the Tiffin summer morning sky in the east…
solid, alluring, credible with gleam and divine wonder.
Surely, I am not the only alien soul covered in crimson.