The Mornings, A Poem
“Morning not only forgives, it forgets.”
When I wake and feel the weight
I breathe and wait for hope.
It comes, but gently and quietly
and only with the reminding of my soul
of what You’ve done for me.
I sit with the pen in my hand
again waiting, for the words to come.
The songbird outside my window
reminds me that You are here.
Do You send him to sing for me?
To remind, that in wherever I am,
there You too also shall be?
Together, we three speak to my soul
and consider her wait for hope,
the rememberings that press into my mind
slowly spread ink onto my page.
Finally, I see now
with every pull of my pen
that there is nowhere for them to hide.
They too wait for You,
that You change them
from far-away longings to ever-ready hope.
So I breathe again
and I will wait again
to see what You will do for me.
Well, hey there!
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