by Steven Searcy
When grief and fears make my tears flow, this much I know— my God has tears. When I can’t speak or move at all, this I recall— my God was weak. When searing shame makes my wounds sting, I know my king has felt the same. When I’m alone, when all friends go, this much I know— that I am known.
Steven Searcy lives with his wife and three sons in Atlanta, GA, where he works as an engineer in fiber optic telecommunications. His poetry has been published in Ekstasis, Reformed Journal, Fathom, Clayjar Review, Heart of Flesh, and Amethyst Review, among others.
Agape Review 