Heat
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?
Silence
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
1 comment:
beautiful.
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