Oh Lord, what of all those quiet times,
When I’m scared,
When I’m losing my mind,
When I start but don’t finish,
When I search but don’t find.
How long can a master piece run from it’s master?
How long can a symphony linger in the mind?
How long before this life drifts from existence?
How long before the visionaries turn blind?
To be lonely I fear most,
Isolated yet exposed,
To the harsh tongue of the accuser,
Yet with righteousness I’m clothed.
Hold me, Daddy hold me,
My comforter and friend,
Hold me, tightly hold me,
On you alone I depend,
Blurred at the edges though definably separate
Mood swings, cyclical syndromes,
Renewed but not established,
Not wanting to drag others down with me,
Pushing them away,
It’s a process, an ongoing practice session,
If not for grace…
Featured in Angel Wings and Heaven