Soaring from the wind
a river of mist flowing o'r my shoulder
There is no descent
and the climb becomes colder
yet I shall climb higher into the sky
Higher ever still
The Sun is my guide
the solace a chill
I weep soaring over the chimneys
The harps of the voices of birds
sing unto me
so sweetly strong
I sweep up the wrongs
Oh delight which no one else can enter
the Still Small Voice
and I alone
on this mountain
with a thousand other faces below
whom I dare not look to, lest I hurt them with myself
Run, run away from me!
I run to the mountainside
to the cave of the Lion
I beg Him to take away the wrongs
and give me rights
rights to death
and wings of light
so that I may fly
and be free from me
I laugh and wipe the tears from my eyes
as He stares into my soul
the complications melt away
and I am left breathless
in the simplicity and the silence of the night
As I relax my grip upon my world, my life, my soul
all becomes clear
and I sigh
my spine relaxing
He sets me to sleep beneath the whirring fan
and I hear His voice like gentle thunder
singing over my head, and His footsteps on my roof top
How beautiful
I rest
I drift
off
to sleep...
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