Parched throat and numbed hands Outline the empty hours Of wasteland. What led me here? My heart glances back and forth, Deeper still; catching the glints of glory In dear memory. Signposts and testaments Stood strong, unmoved, regal then; Dreams manifested, Petitions answered, The fantastic normal of Miracles blossoming along the roadway Strolling beside You. When am I? Those days seem unreachable Across the foggy chasm of Tepid faith, As I test myself: “What is your name?” Striving inches beneath the skin Beats the drum transcendent, The rhythm of longing; Fainted, worn, pulsing still. Die? Indeed, no— I will live— And see Your goodness while I draw breath Here in the treeless valley, Biding the bone-bitter cold of the now. Soon shadows will shrink, dance away From the kindled flash Of Your Presence, Your hope, Rising like a sun Before me—a beggar, a priest. And my tongue will build The Seat of Ages Enthroning You High and eternal, Because the truth is You were ever there In the wasteland Through the empty hours outlining My numbed hands and Parched throat.
This was beautiful. I forgot the beauty of a poem, re reading it until I absorb every word to fully understand its purpose. I loved it
Wow, just wow! “You were ever there in the wasteland.” So true and powerful!