Every morning and every day,
If you’re still saying El Roi (God Who Sees),
You know you’re still in the best of hands.

My world
Is just me and my glass castle,
It seems.
Though every so often,
I can make a glass panel swing out
And I can pop out an arm or leg –
Barely enough to be seen.

And every day,
I try to believe that I’m more or less broken,
As that seems to be comforting,
Though really each day’s pain is likely the same.

I’m allowed to be thankful for closed doors.
They’re truly a blessing in disguise.
They're an indication of His sovereignty,
Our hope, and our being human –
Indeed, they're a fragile opportunity to beautifully let go.

Thoughts and feelings
Of a wanderer
Grow near and fond.

But why winter,
And life’s beatings,
Make this grow to be my love.

My life depends on God.
I am a servant to Him.
This wanderer – that feels as a whisp’ in the wind –
Is certainly not lost.

Though I may be broken -
Pieces flying everywhere -
The puzzle is being put together.
I trust this.
Is Your will something I should know,
Or something powerful I should come to know?

I am a cloud in a world full of clouds.
People call me shy;
I see myself as low-lying fog.
Fog-the thick stuff right in front of your eyes,
so think you can’t see through it…
Until you’ve crossed into the inside.
I don’t see myself as above others,
so I’m low to the ground.

Other clouds –
Storm clouds, and those clouds you can imagine
as anything your heart desires,
and the wispy ones high up in the skies…
They are dramatic and charming, but what are they really?
Some clouds become ripped apart by cars,
but others are ripped apart by planes.
Is there even a cloud never caught, never ripped apart in any motion?
For really, we are all as each other.

If you could sing a song,
What would you sing?
None can truely breathe,
all have gone dumb into silence.

Once I dreamed of things deep,
but now I have forgotten how.
I have forgotten my name,
and your name is lost too.

If you could talk,
what would be your first words?
Would you describe yourself,
or describe someone else?

Would words be of love or hate?
Would they even be words at all?
Are the bones made of fear,
or of mercies and compassion?

Please just tell me why
Tell me the meaning of dreams
They haunt my footsteps

Breathe in and breathe out
Do not repeat your praises
You will hear my shout

You will cry in pain
I will then feel much sorrow
You will faint tonight

I'll battle onwards
Leaving nothing in my path
I now watch your corpse

Under a fleeting light
More than you could ever see
I envy your pain

I will try to put all your thoughts together
Put them on my spindle, wove them in the loom
You cringe to no avail
Please evacuate the premises.

The shotgun is sitting in the corner
Waiting for the voice to lift up its bones
You have no life without the powder
Your barrel, stained only by me.

Wake me up when you sing again
Your life-blood is dry.
I will lie with you in waiting.
I won't ever leave your side.

The forgotten soul
Dreaming of reality
Sick inside myself

Diligent times stained
Remembrance dropped in the night
Deaf to others minds

My friends have no love
Waiting forever, sought none
Belief is silent