Religion is a Secret Language Because It's Spoken by the Soul.

Faith, triumph, forgiveness,
I am their witness.
Mine eyes have seen the glory
but I cannot find the words
with which to tell the story.
My heart speaks that
which has no equivalent
in my language or, I'm sure,
in any other.
I've never been more aware
of the confines of my ribs
as when my soul and my heart
fill, burst out of my core,
and beat against the bones that cage them,
desperately seek to get out,
try to use my voice to speak them out,
but I have never found out
the right way to say,
"I know that my Reedeemer lives,"
and I know that He is with me always
and I know that I can be cleansed from sin
because I have fallen and had to begin
again.
With Him.
"I know that my Reedeemer lives,"
and the comfort that sweet sentence gives
will see me through my days,
no matter rain, sun, or mist,
because giving me a chance
and then giving His Ultimate Gift
have given me the strength to stand,
the freedom to act,
and the responsibility to remember.