Grace is a Color

A poem

Grace is the color of morning light:
not quite gold, not quite white;
Just enough to blind the shadows
hiding beneath and out of sight.

Grace is the peal of the chapel bell:
ringing throughout the prison cell;
It echoes past the stony walls
to bring the captive news to tell.

Grace is the scent of homemade bread:
paired with wine and words He said;
Broken, poured, into the earth,
a promise kept for all those dead.

Grace is the taste of water sweet:
not only drink for weary feet;
A grave in waves to find true life,
it washes pure and makes complete.

Grace is the warmth of a gentle hand:
with scars that bear an eternal plan;
Guiding along the narrow way
to walk into the promised land.