The Altar I Became

They thought I was being broken
but I was being kindled.

Each loss,
each surrender,
each yes in the dark
was wood laid upon me
by the hands of Mercy.

I asked God for a flame…
He made me the altar.

He didn’t need my performance
He needed a place to rest.
And so, I let the fire come.
I let it burn what I clung to.
I let it find what was hidden.

Now I do not carry the flame
I am the altar
where it dwells.

—Joe Restman
Mystic-Scribe | Flame-Bearer
Quill Dipped in Lightning ⚡️