Old Wine Skins

Chipping away at the ache in my heart,
the pain took shape.
There was a figure, devoid of peace kneeling in submission,
but that wasn't me.

Too anxious to be still,
this panic of anxiety,
led me to try to be still,
but the ache yawned into something bigger,
that beat it's shadow wings around my head,
I would love to be more healed,
at this moment.

These quiet clouds in this late afternoon,
and the shush of the wind,
the merging soft drone of distant traffic,
I recognise this.
I know distraction will keep the shadow army at bay,
but soul healing must come from facing
up to the shedding of old skin,
the old wine-skin,
too brittle to survive this assault,
from the neglected children of painful emotions.

What would peace look like?
And I asked that question, which felt like another new beginning;
and the answer came in the form of recognising
my need of Grace;
I turn and look at Your face.