A poem and composition to invite release.

Recommended musical accompaniment: “Kings” by Eric Owyoung, Future of Forestry

I never knew my bones could cry
until I met unspeakable grief.
They groaned beneath my skin—
a quiet breaking the world couldn’t hear.

Lately, I stand in worship services
and my feet can barely hold me.
The songs rise like incense,
but I am smoke—thin, trembling,
afraid the wind might take me.

An ache in my belly swallows my words.
My chest swells; it could burst with a whisper.
Every breath feels borrowed,
every hallelujah heavy.

My soul aches for release.
All I can do is hum
and hold myself tightly,
as if keeping the Spirit inside
from spilling out too soon.

The Lord knows these groans.
He has heard them before—
in gardens, on lonely hillsides,
under olive trees slick with sorrow.

Just when I think my sorrow will break me,
I remember my Lord—my sweet Savior—on His knees,
going to the Father with a vow on His lips,
a vision of a wedding feast in His eyes.

Even when my bones feel like they’re failing me,
I remember: I am His bride.
And grief is only the washing—
the holy ache of being made ready.