Your Love is A Melody

If your love was a melody, you’d be singing it over me.
Your voice sweeter than honey, the words more meaningful than life.

If your love was a melody it would be soaring through the wind, carrying a whisper of love that would speak to my heart.

Your love is a melody, piercing my soul, tearing through the darkness, and moving the mountains in me.

Your love is a melody and you’re singing it over me.

 

Psalm 40:3
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.

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War

Why do we wage in this war so black and white?

We are fighting against ourselves and the One who is trying to save our lives.

Yes we have an enemy, who strives to consume our race, he scoffs and lies in our face.

But little does he know, he’s not the author of my story.

Through hellfire and darkness, we press on because we know that in the end our savior receives all the glory.

  

Vibrations, Vibrato

  Vibrations, vibrato, makes my heart beat staccato.

Like a dance I sway, and to a meadow I travel.

My heart it sings a song, a song that expresses the emotion in my soul.

The joy I feel is so complete, and I could fly, so I’ll play a high note that brings me up to the sky.

Then to bring me back down, to this place called reality, I’ll play a simple lullaby.

It’ll sooth me to sleep, and in peace I will rest

  

Heading Home

I’m packing my bags, and I’m heading on home, to a place where love and forgiveness awaits.

Maybe I’m a prodigal, maybe I’m a hero, but either way, I’m heading on home.

I shouldn’t have run, but I don’t regret doing so, not even for a moment.

Yes, I saw things that no man should experience, and lived when I should have died,

but God saw me through it.

They pinned medals against my chest, and told me “Son, go on home.”

So, I’m packing my bags, and heading on home to my wife and children a humble man who lost his sight but whose soul has taken flight.

The Novel Traveler

The Novel Traveler

I walked through the door, the musty air meeting me where I stand.

The place so pleasant, my soul at peace.

The aged wooden floors creaking beneath my step.

I walk beside the sturdy shelves, my fingers drifting over the binding of my familiar friends.

I find my treasure, and hold it close.

Looking around I find my place in leather chair, broken in by years of use.

Placing my legs beneath me, I prepare myself for an adventure.

Getting caught up in the moment of the tale, my eyes flutter close.

Awakening, a beautiful state of being indeed.

What do I see? Roads. Roads leading me places that I  never would have gone.

Mountains and valleys I see,

people covering ground,

but that’s not what baffles me.

A mere girl of sixteen, traveling the road and it’s all so familiar.

Her hair, her voice, her eyes, that smile.

I open my mouth, to call out, to find the truth, but as I did, this world vanished.

My eyes flew open, the book fell from my hands.

I jumped up, my heart racing,

confused to the point of desperation, I shelved the book and ran.

A daughter of the forest

The freckled face, the shimmering eyes, stare up at us in sheer delight.

The prospect of attention from more than one of these, strange yet beautiful creatures, causes her heart to bubble over with joy.

A treasure is she, green eyes and a smile, with spunk like a stallion, she’s a daughter of the forest. She will grow into a young woman with grace and beauty, but until then she is like an Indian Child, untamed and free, like the wind itself.

The life of a teenage girl in a nutshell

The makeup, the glamour, the tears, the mascara.

Pimples and periods, the pain oh so serious.

Chocolate is nice, but bread is better.

The heartbreaks that bring, the torrent of tears,

oh how hard are these few years.

The nails, the polish, the laughter that follows,

and the memories that are made.

The buckets of ice cream,

the movies that make us cry.

But treasure us always, and we’ll be the ultimate prize.

Holocaust

For those who suffered through the Holocaust.

The sun in its glory shines down on us as we mourn.

We came to this place to escape the sirens and chains, but we have been found by enemy planes.

Our shackles returning, our skin is burning.  An ever-present gnawing in our stomachs, for food was a treasure from our past.

Though agonizing cries spill from our lips, no one hears us but God alone.

As we labor the land, suffering torture and demand, our trust is in God, who’s holding our hand.

In the Quiet of My Soul

In the Quiet of My Soul

 

In the secret, in the quiet, my heart turns to you.

Shutting the door to chaos, I block out their words.

My gaze falls to the ocean blue.

I have heard that even you Lord, care about the birds.

 

So put a song in my heart,

give rest to my weary soul,

for I know that I am a work of art,

but some of the colors the world has stole.

 

I used to have many colors, colors of white and green and many others unseen, but those I now lack

but the world is nasty, and has given me stains,

so white turned into gray and gray into black, oh if only I could get those back

I beg you Lord, cleanse me with your healing rains.

 

He came with a swoop, taking all of my sorrows away,

changing me for the better, so that I’ll never forget this day.