Thursday, October 21, 2010

Yield, and I am yielding but not to You. Not as I should.
Shrouded and fogged, my dreams remain stretched out before me to the unseen.
I must be undone; for only here in great undoing is the done-ness of life complete.

Were that I am fit to wander, but this was never so.
Send me, go, where Your Spirit sounds my trumpet call.

I'll be calling, asking, seeking, knocking and You say finding is not far behind,
but it lies beyond me still.
And I plod, continue, wander my inward halls towards where the windward one might yell.
Clear as day and church bells ringing, I'll rise to heady highlands.

Singing clear as day with night behind me.

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