I write and I pollinate paper with my thoughts
Hoping to be held by their roots when death frowns at my finished days
And time calls out no more
I call out to You
Knowing a question needs neither hook nor bait to catch its answer
The same way you whispered life
Into my start
When I knew you not but as the light to my darkness
The existence to my nothingness
The continuance of my end
I surrender to my need for You
From my umbilical dependence
To the subconscious thought behind my final breath
I have tried to understand you through the eyes that You have created
Only to bear witness to the proof of my creation
Each soul communicates to You
Through the strength that You have instilled into them
Amid the debris a child pushes back tears
Soon breaks because even mountains erode in time
But nobody sees the strength behind that silent wait
Nor sees how a mother has knitted her home
From a thousand silken webs of pain
And fed her children hope from a million broken hearts.
What's more beautiful than a smile suspended by a quenched heart?
Contentment sits in the heart just as water sits in a lake
Yet I drown my heart with the world when You have
Created for me a sustainable fountain.
I write because it is the strength you have given me
So I have scattered my being between my letters
Hoping they will find You blindly
I write because my mind hides a tragedy
A burdened cup, full and waiting to spill
The plot is death, tears provide the ink until the heart stops writing.
I yearn for You when my sighs collapse against my breath
But I need You most when my soul collapses against my heart
I light a flame but will soon blow it away knowing life is a candle placed on an empty throne
Gone but will it reclaim the kingdom you have destined it for?
I write quenched by the favours that choke me away from You
I write while being loved
Knowing your love for me is the pinnacle of guidance
While my love for You is the shadow of worship
It grows from within and crosses over to the other
Over an invisible bridge, to sit on the podium of the heart
But what podium am I sincerely worthy of when I love You at my worst
Yet claim to end my letters faithfully?