The many moving things,
moving scenes; that are stuck in between my eyes.
Look at life; and it's fragile creations,
through the window's glass.
Held on the weight of time,
those holding onto their past. But it all must change;
from the old seasons to those anew.
The many winters of cold, soon surpasses on the grass.

So many pictures, so many little things,
and so many moments. All caught in the prettiness
of an everlasting flower.
A tower plant, trying to kiss the glorious sun,
the Son of Man, and the sweetest rose.

The holies of all holies; resides inside of me.
Walking the testimonials upon my feet.
For how far have I gone to seek?
I've seen blackness, as a changing tide of darkness.
A ***** sheet; barely covering the littlest sin. But there's
still the greatest of all light within.

A Christ within me.

How are my eyes shut to the window;
and their curtains covering itself on a dream?
A dream to be free.

Freedom of will.
Freedom of speech.
Freedom to choose peace.

I scratch the tiny hairs under my chin,
biting the collar of my shirt with my dry lips.
There's no duty to being empty all your life.
No command to live that way, or any sort of drill.

But there's a thirst on my tongue,  
running down to my heart. My spirit's cup is waiting
to be overfilled. And to go on and spill.

I as myself,
only long to be spirit filled.
Holy Spirit come inside of me.

A thousand pictures in the window,
and I only long for the one picture of Him.