Gratefulness scrawled out

The words I use are sometimes so limiting that it's hard to write the way I feel upon a page/ and within my hand I hold an old relic of a feathered pen/ and then I swirl it on this wooden surface/ scrawling out our fates/ and the words I write trade places with what's real and I become what I've revealed/ this poetry, this art/ is the tip of how the created creates/ the Lord is good to the one who waits for His mighty hand to act on our behalf/ and within my heart, I have His love/ and I am more thankful than you could ever know