GRACE

© 2025 Scott L. All Rights Reserved.

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GRACE

A gift forged in light and love,

Faithful and true in accord with His righteousness.

A well that never runs dry,

A blessing to all who drink refreshing the soul.

True Peace, wisdom, and freedom.

Oh, what a delight, singing and praising all day.

And night, Glory to the King,

His grace of sacrifice, not one time but always.

My Savior and Redeemer, who dwells in my heart.

A Conversational Reflection on the Design

(With Divine Motivation Integrated)

Grace isn’t random, and neither was this poem.

Every line grew out of what grace truly means to me—the truth of it, the weight of it, the comfort of it, and the responsibility that comes with it. I shaped each thought with intention, wanting the structure itself to reflect what grace does: lift, steady, strengthen, and expand a person’s heart.

But to be completely honest, I didn’t write this alone.

There was a pull behind it—a sense of connection, a prompting, something that felt bigger than me.

For me, that’s God.

That’s what I believe.

And I don’t know how else to explain the clarity and direction that guided each line.

It wasn’t about being clever or technical.

It was about responding to something I felt deeply and letting that guidance shape the poem.

I originally thought I was writing to a 5–12 rhythm,

But as the poem settled, the true pattern became clear: 7 and 12.

That pattern fit the theme perfectly.

It gave the poem balance, movement, and a sense of quiet strength.

This poem also stepped into a new space that isn’t often explored.

The 7–12 rhythm isn’t a standard poetic form, and it’s not something you commonly see in English verse.

It’s unfamiliar terrain.

But I went there—drawn there, really—and came back with something that felt solid, intentional, and surprisingly rich.

For readers who enjoy the technical side of writing, it opens a door into how rhythm shapes meaning.

And for anyone simply listening to the flow, it brings a sense of freshness and discovery.

There’s also meaning in the numbers themselves.

In Scripture, 7 represents completion, spiritual fullness, the perfection of God’s work.

12 reflects divine order and foundation—tribes, apostles, structure.

So the poem’s rise from 7 to 12, again and again, carries a quiet symbolic resonance.

And that final 12-syllable line doesn’t just close the poem—it seals it, almost like a peaceful “Amen.”

Not in a priestly sense, but simply as a reflection of the patterns God has woven into His Word.

The poem unfolds in four sections, each beginning with a tight, focused line and rising into a fuller one—four movements that mirror the four Gospels, each opening up the truth of Christ’s life in its own way.

The extraordinary fine writing was something I was led into, something I followed with reverence and purpose.

I’m grateful for how it came together,

And I hope that anyone who reads it can feel a measure of the strength, peace, and depth I was reaching for—and the guidance that carried me—when I wrote it.