Constellations

My life is declared,
and the words are not definite,
for the story is still unwritten-
But some things are for certain:
These wings are withered,
These lips parched,
unworthy of living water.
There is nothing in the ability.

I chose the font of these words, and am offering this heart for the author to write upon
with a pen called grace, not a pencil-
For the author writes perfectly, and there is no need for an eraser.

So why do we dwell on regret?

Let us push forth then like the constellations,
for we know full well there is a promised sky for us to stretch our wings.

And the God
of the entire universe

catching us, and lifting us back up when we fall