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By Peter O
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Incarnates Your Son
In my soul.

I say: "Thank You, Father,"
The Word, Your Son,
Takes on the "flesh"  of my life
And tents in this moment.

My soul is no longer a tomb,
But a temple, a shrine,
With a roof that never falls --
Joy! Joy! Joy!

More, a gift of vision
To see beneath all, through all,
To see all as treasure and
Not as burnt candles. And
When sadness arches over
The raw ribs of my soul,
Gratitude is my healer, my therapeutic., yes
Gratitude even melts my soul's icebergs.

Why? "I no longer live,but Christ lives in me." [Gal 2:20]

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Submitted: Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Last Updated: Tuesday, March 20, 2012

About the Poet
I am 79 years of age. For the past nine years I have been retired, after forty years, from the field of alcoholism and drug abuse in New York City. I am married and we have two grown sons and two grand-sons. My life changed through a grace-experience in 1967. Writing Christian prayers is a particular interest of mine. This came about by a growing awareness of the spiritual in recovery from addictions. I choose, intellectually and emotionally, to believe the Triune God of the Sared Scriptures as my Healer.

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