The Veil is torn

I built a throne from questions,

Crowned my doubt as king.

Every answer rusted,

Every truth lost its sting.

But then a voice — not thunder, not flame —

Breathed through the hollow

And called my name.

I was the echo in my own cave,

Tasting the dust I made.

He shattered the idol of me,

And light bled through the break.

Now I fall to rise — unmasked, undone.

Grace like gravity, pulling me home.

The void I worshiped now overrun,

By the Son — by the Son.

Old man coils around the thought,

Tries to whisper "You're still lost."

But the fire inside won't hear —

It hums, it hums: "I AM near."

Every scar rewrites my skin,

Every breath — baptism again.

I tasted the dark,

But it lost its flavor.

I drowned in doubt,

Then surfaced in favor.

The Architect rebuilt my frame,

Piece by piece — spoke my name.

Blood runs cleaner through these veins,

Peace electric in my brain.

Hands once curled to curse the sky —

Now raised, alive, glorified.

Now I fall to rise — unmasked, undone.

Grace like gravity, pulling me home.

The void I worshiped now overrun,

By the Son — by the Son.

This cage of bone becomes a throne,

His Spirit carved my soul in stone.

Stillness speaks.

Faith breathes.

The veil is torn —

And I finally see.