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Footprint©

Footprint©

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Published by Pamela Brickmann
"footprint"
by pb Hill

i want to leave a footprint somewhere upon the earth, and i want to know i left it to confirm my own self-worth. and i want to be dew-kissed sometime before i die, and i have so many questions, that all begin with, "Why?" and i wonder if the heavens know where the earth begins? or if it's opposition: earth is where Heaven ends? and is it God who chooses those who splinter tender hearts? and does He also know that the end's where something starts? and can i know too much,
"footprint"
by pb Hill

i want to leave a footprint somewhere upon the earth, and i want to know i left it to confirm my own self-worth. and i want to be dew-kissed sometime before i die, and i have so many questions, that all begin with, "Why?" and i wonder if the heavens know where the earth begins? or if it's opposition: earth is where Heaven ends? and is it God who chooses those who splinter tender hearts? and does He also know that the end's where something starts? and can i know too much,

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Published by: Pamela Brickmann on Apr 24, 2010
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05/12/2014

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"footprint

"
by pb Hill

i want to leave a footprint somewhere upon the earth, and i want to know i left it to confirm my own self-worth. and i want to be dew-kissed sometime before i die, and i have so many questions, that all begin with, "Why?" and i wonder if the heavens know where the earth begins? or if it's opposition: earth is where Heaven ends? and is it God who chooses those who splinter tender hearts? and does He also know that the end's where something starts? and can i know too much, or am i frightened just to try? and will my disregard cause my tormented brain to cry? but that footprint thought it bugs me, down inside my soul; am i but a whisper or does my existing have a goal? (Jesus left a footprint where He took a stand, a solid, sturdy footprint, not upon the sand. He stretched open wide His arms out upon a tree, and His hands never touched, so all could come and be.) so i wantto know my footprint, and gently now i ask, and empty now my essence echoes, "what could be my task?" and who am i allowed to touch and leave with no debris,

to historically retell the world that Jesus has touched me? it mustn't be a big print, attracting all to cheer; it can be a tiny thing that someone might hold dear. i just want to comprehend this and come to understand my footprint's on the grass, and not upon the sand. i could pass in peace then, at least i think i could, to see a sprouting kindness in the ground where on i stood. alas, perhaps my footprint is only that i care to leave the world a footprint and risk beyond a dare, to embrace the world around me with arms stretched to the sky, and if this is my footprint, i don't need, then, to know why

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