You take the pen -- and the lines dance.
You take the flute -- and the notes shimmer.
You take the brush -- and the colors sing.
So all things have meaning and beauty in that space beyond time where You are.
How then, can I hold anything from You?
I am being driven forward Into an unknown lane. The pass grows steeper, The air colder and sharper. A wind from my unknown goal Stirs the strings of expectation. Still the question: Shall I ever get there? There where life resounds, A clear pure note in the silence.
