Jul 2019
Night has faded into existence.
I am in my room on a bed where I sleep alone.
The pillow pressed around my head seems jagged tonight, like rocks which lie below a cascading waterfall of rushing tears and secrets, of life’s greatest joys and deepest griefs.
In the dark, my mind is often let to wander through worlds outside my own.
But tonight, it storms, and my darkened room is illuminated by the constant sputtering wicks of divine candles that flash through the sky around home and body.
Adventures in mind are begun, but forcibly must be interrupted by the clang of heaven’s laughter, the applause of a host greater than man.
I hear the knock of rain at my door, like an old friend named consolation.
Love.
This is where my mind goes amidst summer storm, for there is terrible romance in the fright of thunder and glow of lightning.
The glorious display of supernatural orchestration pierces through the soul’s wandering compositions and makes audible a concerto that has been practiced and played more times than care to be counted.
Love is its title.
Where could she be?
My soul is hers, and hers is mine.
I earnestly desire to feel it close to me, to know it better as my equal and my likeness.
If rend my soul I must, then rend it I will, if only to match it with hers for all eternity.
I long to belong.
Yet what is her name?
I do not know, for I have not felt, nor have our spirits crossed on this plane or another.
But her essence has always been in my eyes, looking out upon the sunset, admiring the trees as they dance in the wind, reading a novel by one with a talent for capturing my very thoughts and emotions in deep ink.
Tell me your name, kindred spirit.
Speak it to me in the clamoring thunder.
Whisper it to me in the chilling wind.
Emblazon it onto my heart by lightning strike.
God calls me in my searching.
His plan is good and faithful, and my trust in Him is unwavering.
He knows her name; therefore, I am content.
I am in my room on a bed where I sleep alone.
The pillow pressed around my head seems jagged tonight, like rocks which lie below a cascading waterfall of rushing tears and secrets, of life’s greatest joys and deepest griefs.
In the dark, my mind is often let to wander through worlds outside my own.
But tonight, it storms, and my darkened room is illuminated by the constant sputtering wicks of divine candles that flash through the sky around home and body.
Adventures in mind are begun, but forcibly must be interrupted by the clang of heaven’s laughter, the applause of a host greater than man.
I hear the knock of rain at my door, like an old friend named consolation.
Love.
This is where my mind goes amidst summer storm, for there is terrible romance in the fright of thunder and glow of lightning.
The glorious display of supernatural orchestration pierces through the soul’s wandering compositions and makes audible a concerto that has been practiced and played more times than care to be counted.
Love is its title.
Where could she be?
My soul is hers, and hers is mine.
I earnestly desire to feel it close to me, to know it better as my equal and my likeness.
If rend my soul I must, then rend it I will, if only to match it with hers for all eternity.
I long to belong.
Yet what is her name?
I do not know, for I have not felt, nor have our spirits crossed on this plane or another.
But her essence has always been in my eyes, looking out upon the sunset, admiring the trees as they dance in the wind, reading a novel by one with a talent for capturing my very thoughts and emotions in deep ink.
Tell me your name, kindred spirit.
Speak it to me in the clamoring thunder.
Whisper it to me in the chilling wind.
Emblazon it onto my heart by lightning strike.
God calls me in my searching.
His plan is good and faithful, and my trust in Him is unwavering.
He knows her name; therefore, I am content.
