The Prophetess Without Honor
I saw the wind before it blew,
I heard the hush that others knew
Only when the thunder fell—
But I had felt the swell.
I felt the ache in other’s prayers
Before they spoke them into air.
The pain beneath a smiling face—
Discernment clothed in quiet grace.
Since childhood’s hush I bore the flame,
The dreams, the warnings none could name.
While others ran through fields of play,
I wept for things not yet that day.
They said I was “too much, too deep,”
“Too quiet,” “odd,” or “lost in sleep.”
But I was listening—eyes upturned,
To things their souls had not yet learned.
I walked through rooms where secrets groaned,
And wept in halls where no one moaned.
I knew the storm before it broke,
And bore its weight in wordless yoke.
I tried to speak—but they grew blind,
The mirror’s edge too sharp to find.
And though I spoke with love and fire,
They only saw a voice… not choir.
For Jesus knew this road I tread—
They mocked Him too, and shook their head.
“A prophet hath no honor here,”
“We know her face—what should we fear?”
They do not see because they’ve known—
The girl who sang, the seed she’d sown.
But when the winds begin to roar,
They’ll seek the one they named no more.
So I will cry while none applaud,
And sing of mercy, truth, and God.
I’ll write the warnings in the dust,
And still be found both bold and just.
And when the storm breaks wide and loud,
And silence drowns the mocking crowd—
They’ll say,
“She saw, she said, she knew…”
But by then I’ll be passing through
Written by Marguerite Grace
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verse, possies, sonnets, and short stories 