by Carol Edwards

I feel like Peter so often
my silence louder than the emphatic
“No,” he uttered by the fire.

Carol, do you love Me?

Lord, You know I love you.

There is comfort in the omniscience
of God – He sees the worst in me
what I try to hide from Him
in fancy words and self-righteous airs
and isn’t fazed,
His love unchanged;

He also sees the best in me –
Himself –
which He put there,
so my faith will never fail
though my thoughts and energy
and priorities do daily.

Carol, do you love Me?

Lord, You know all things, and
past the flesh corrupted that 
so often wins, embedded 
small as a mustard seed 

You know I love You.

Carol Edwards is a northern California native transplanted to southern Arizona. She lives and works in relative seclusion with her books, plants, and pets (+ husband). She grew up reading fantasy and classic literature, climbing trees, and acquiring frequent grass stains. She enjoys a coffee addiction and aspires to be a succulent mad scientist. Her work has appeared in a variety of publications, most recently in Open Skies Quarterly and Trouvaille Review, and forthcoming in Otherwise Engaged Literature and Arts Journal.