None of “We”

Image by Adam Tinworth via Flickr

Who am I that my words should be known?

My words are mine alone.

I prattle like a lonely maid

as solitude fills my soul.

Yet if I speak of He who IS

And keep my mind on places His,

My lips add dew to healing’s pool.

Not one exists to fill the role

Of grand acclaim as He.

And every word which fills the heart

Finds source from none of we.

The Painter.

Image by † David Gunter via Flickr

I am a painter.

I sit myself down to paint “I Am”.

What colors should I choose?

I will lift black from the pallet.

For that is the color of words.

What shall I paint?

I spill the paint upon the canvas.

For “I Am” is All.

Image by Christoffer Greiss via Flickr

What is sleep?

While I sleep I cannot taste Him.

Fitful sleep is best.

For it wakens me to kiss Him.

The storm has knocked hard against the walls and windows.

“Rise up”, it whispers with Loud Thunderous Breath.

I will gladly rise to see His hand move through this place of restless sleep.

I need Your touch, O’ Lord of Life!

Sleep, what is sleep?

Sleep is a restless, void, black, yet with a promise of Dawn.

An awakening from silence.

I would rather hear His voice.