So my head spins in the fury of flight -
A million things to do -
The clock is clicking on the wall of the room
And fingers are tapping on the desk nearby, too.
The colors of life are muted and grey,
Grey like the numbers on the clock,
Pastel like they've been drained from the shock of due dates
And hours passed.
But where my hand rests there on the desk -
Where the veins are grey with weariness -
The warmth of Your hand comes to cover mine.
I cannot carry the million weights,
The loud noises that haunt my days.
I cannot bear the expectation of reasonable and unreasonable men.
But in the dim light, I finally catch a vision of Your eyes -
Your eyes that burn with vigorous flame;
Desire for me that sweeps me off my feet.
The grey sea parts and the sapped colors of my world become electric.
The wilting flower of my heart arises to meet Your sun again -
Because You didn't create me to do things -
You created me to be-long to You; to be-loved.
Written by Samantha Lindholm
September 14, 2013
