There’s a wonder I’m filled with
each time my hands get to steer
a path through a mountainous route
where my eyes can’t seem to take in
enough beauty in my surroundings,
so my head twirls from side to side
just praying I can capture a photo
in one of the neurons that swirls
through my brain,
but this velocity forces my safety.
I can’t tell you how lost I wish I could become there
in the hours that pass with split-second
glimpses of liberty
and awe at the beauty a God can create
in a world that’s become so cold to touch.
Even more,
I can’t tell you of the craving that arises,
a hunger to hide in the shadows of a hill,
and watch life happen from a distance,
so maybe,
for once in my short, little life,
I could forget how much
I long to feel your eyes
not only look at me,
but SEE me
again,
and
even on the days I don’t wish…
the days that you don’t even cross my mind…

maybe you’d stop making a home
out of its backbone.