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The cross pierces the pale canvas above, a black blade in the flesh of the sky. I know He has won; the battle was over long before my feet touched this ground.The promise of salvat ion wraps around me like a cloak stitched from light and still, beneath it, the raw skin of my sins burns through.My heart aches with the memory of sins I swore to bury, like weeds in dry soil, they rise again, clawing toward the surface. I feel the weight of my repentance in fleeting flashes,moments when grace brushes against me, warm as the sun through stained glass, shadows are never far behind.My vices linger at the edges of my soul, patient, waiting for me to fall once more.Yet the righteous man always rises.-Sergio Photography Print: 8x10 Show more