The Thread and the Anchor

She always knew—before she knew how—
that the ordinary could never hold her now.
There was something deeper, something more—
a calling she'd carried from lifetimes before.

She wore her knowing like a second skin,
called it “misunderstood”
and tucked it in.

But the truth pulsed quiet beneath her ribs:
She came from light, was born of bliss.

And love— not fear—

was her native land,
a force she held—like flame in hand.

Moonlight calmed her; fire spoke her name.
The trees remembered, though none else came.
She prayed not in pews, but under sky,
where God walks soft and listens wide.

Still, there were days the thread would slip—
when the voice of doubt curled in her grip.
She'd sit too long in the hollow hush,
forgetting the light she once could feel.

Darkness wandered in, tender and cruel,
whispering lies she once thought true.
That there is no purpose, no grand design—
only ache in silence and time’s cruel disguise.

But she’d been taught how to tether back,
how to find her way from the deep and black.
With breath for compass, root to guide,
she’d seek the thread
and slowly rise.

For even in doubt, the anchor stayed—
a holy hush that never frayed.
It hummed with love beneath her bone:
You are not lost. You are not alone.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai