On a whim…

David Wilkerson 9/25/2025

I buried belief with her,
creeds don’t keep the night away)
Faith staggered, thin as breath-ing,
(I thought it too would fade).

But sorrow split the silence,
and beauty cut me through,
a goodness in the dark-ness
I had no right to choose.

Call it grace, call it love,
(call it nothing, call it enough)
What I lost returns as whisper—
(not a for-tress, just a song).

Call it grace, call it love,
(too frail to prove, too strong to hush)
In the ruins I belong.

Experience is brutal,
(but it will not be denied)
In the chamber of her dying
I heard life refuse to hide.

Belief came back as language,
a trembling in my chest.
To name what can’t be spoken
is the only faith that’s left.

Call it grace, call it love,
(call it nothing, call it enough)
What I lost returns as whisper—
(not a fortress, just a song).

Call it grace, call it love,
(too frail to prove, too strong to hush)
In the ruins I belong.

Oh, I thought the silence would break me,
(but it held me like a hymn).
What I buried rose to name me,
(and I let it breathe again).

Call it grace, call it love,
(call it nothing, call it enough).
In the ruins, in the ashes,
it was faith that learned to sing.

Call it grace, call it love,
(too frail to prove, too strong to hush).
And belief—belief returned—
as the song it could not bring.

“In the ruins I belong.”