The pit

Buried deep in a pit of sin.

Barely breathing, trapped within

Stifled screams for help, I cry

No escape, death's gleaming eye

Frantic digging, knuckles bleeding.

Tears, I whimper, growing dimmer.

Only moments left, my final cry for help.

A flicker of light, it hurts my eyes

A hand reaches out, He heard my cries.

I pull away, I know my doubt.

Trust is gone, "to late" I shout

But still persistent he grabs my hand.

And gently lifts me to solid land

Softly he whispers in my ear

Loving words, sweet and clear:

"It's not to late when hope is gone.

When you are weak I'll make you strong."