Our broken bodies soon become dust. A breeze comes and goes, carrying us with it.

Could You capture every particle and gather them together? Condense them until there is some semblance of who we used to be?

Blessed are those who believe.

Cherished are those who trust though they cannot see.

Your gaze softens as weary eyes lift to the sky, toward the only hope of rescue.

There is no self reliance. We are no gods at all.

Like an unfaithful bride who has betrayed, would You still come claim her even though she lost the wedding ring?

The miasma chokes out the light of day. You who open the heavens, would You rush to our aid?

The world will fade. Dreams will diminish as time draws to its end, but You remain unchanged.

Numai în Hristos ne punem nădejdea.