She can gather up all the fragments.
All the failed lives
And all lives have failed.
We all cast a shadow.
I don't know the magic she weaves,
where tears become sacred drops
Like myrrh bleeding from a tree.
And the upside down way
feeble knees and broken feet
are the very vehicle 
by which God travels the Earth.
They say our hearts must crack open like a seed.
Head first in the ground we go.
Then we become like that Myrrh tree,
with branches too beautiful to be seen with human eyes.
Our senses have become dulled,
through fighting endless battles with fickle tides.
One day we will see the illumination.
With clear eyes, 
see how our wings have formed, 
how love has transformed our lives.
For love has shaped us.
And love tends to us,
from seed to sapling to tree.
With branches like arms reaching upward, 
and our blood, our tears are Myrrh.