Saturday, June 07, 2008

Three Nights Ago

Unaccustomed heat
Hangs thick and moist in the air
and presses my body

So that sleep
Flees my hunting
And causes my pen to rise

But is there more here?
Do You want to speak?
Is my spirit in tune?
Is my heart eager?

Unaccustomed silence
Hangs thick at 2 AM
And permeates my spirit

So that Your voice
Flees from my hunting
And writes a tear down my cheek

As a deer Lord,
Satisfy my panting heart
With Living Water
Fill this silence with joy