It's more akin to touch than to sight or sound
A focused vibration felt within my bones
My eyes can't spot it
My ears don't detect even
The smallest whisper when it begins
And at its crescendo, I'm buzzing and sharp
~~~
And aloud, I say, "Yes LORD?  Your servant is here!"
And then it subsides
And it's no longer clear

Did I feel that?
Was it real?

I doubt it;

I think, I feel...

That even if angels came down to my street
And lifted me up - right off of my feet
And for minutes, held me airborne
Two yards off the ground
I know that the moment that I was brought down...

I would doubt my own senses
That's why I can't be
The chosen, the faithful, who's allowed to see

Prone to scoff at the stories
Of loved ones who'd swear
There’s something
Much bigger than ourselves out there

But
Yah
Me
Unfortunately

...Prone to wander and wallow
Prone to spit, not to swallow the stories of old
As I stray from the fold