Friday, November 21, 2014

For The Maestro

I sit quietly
Awaiting instruction
Yearning for The One
Who brings order to the chaos
Of my soul
An entire orchestra 
At His disposal
To use as He wishes
I am strings
And winds
And brass
And beat
Waiting to be used
With His manipulation
The taut strings soar higher
Than imaginable
The winds bring undercurrent that 
Threaten to drown
The brass is the lighthouse beacon
Cutting through fog
And the steady beat of His heart
And over
And over again
Until the music is exhausted
I am the extension of His soul
And the very portrait of His vision
I am satiated
Once He lowers his baton
And smiles 

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