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What Remains
Grief rumbles beneath my ribs
a sound I cannot unhear.
suffering, a name I dare not speak
settles in my heart like stone
too deep for mortal hands to reach.
The silence lurks, heavy, unmoved
a shadow lingering at the door
a breath held captive in the dark.
Yet, somewhere, mercy stirs
a quiet ember in the ruin
a voice threading through the wreckage.
His hand moves where mine cannot
steady, certain, unshaken by death.
Sorrow does not write my ending
nor loss lay claim to what is His.
Even as the earth consumes what was
even as grief carves its name in stone
Christ is here
not undoing, not erasing
but calling the dead to rise
making all things new again.
The alchemy of grace
Rain does not fall
it is grace unbound, from heaven’s open hands
a baptism of silver mercy
threading the city’s spine with living water.
Each drop, a cleansing scalpel
washes dust from weary streets
flooding cracked foundations
with whispers of renewal.
A tree bends somewhere,
limbs outstretched in silent prayer
roots drinking deep the thunder’s voice.
The sky breaks, spilling mirrors
light stitches itself into the storm
flickers once, then rests.
I watch from behind glass
tracing rain-rivers with my fingers
seeing my reflection fractured within.
Dissolution holds its own grace.
The storm does not vanish
it is received into the earth
soaked into thirsty roots
so that something new may grow.
The silence and the light
This silence whispers Your name
a voice within the dark
no longer hollow
no longer lost
but yearning to be filled.
Love, once burned to ash
now finds embers stirred
beneath the dust
a story left untold,
yet held within Your breath.
This silence sings Your name
a hymn beneath the ache
where shadows fall
but mercy rises still
where my heart may bend
but never break.
Cracked mirror, shattered frame
yet even broken glass
can catch the sun and shine anew.
Nothing will be the same
yet something true remains
a thread of gold within the ruin
a hand that lifts the heavy weight.
Through pain and sorrow
His hand now steadies mine.
Sean Ewing is a poet and visual artist who creates work that encourages you to slow down, reflect, and connect with something bigger. Using vibrant language and thoughtful depictions of nature, he explores beauty, acknowledges sorrow, and points to the hope found in faith. His art have been featured in publications such as Last Leaves Magazine, Dulcet Literary Magazine, Midnight Fawn Review, Barnstorm Review, The Courtship of Winds, Cypress Review, The Gilded Weathervane, and The Writers Journal. Whether he’s using paint or words, Sean’s art provides a space for your soul to pause, breathe, and recognize God's presence in the middle of everyday life.
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