morning_landscape_25_by_wienwal(photocredit to wienwal)

Sitting blankly in a foreign place
Amazed at the newness of life
Fingertips distant from the touch that once was,
I sit in the din of morning to write.
I write of things long lost yet hoped for
In light of things I hoped to find
In light of a treasure I have obtained,
A precious thing I may soon call mine.
Truly a gift to me,
Wrapped neatly a bow from the Almighty,
For I know that in all honesty,
I can never truly be worthy.
I write because in the dark of night she whispers to me what other would not;
Her company is welcome, inviting and warm.
I had grown accustomed to a cold acquaintance that wasn’t quite love at all,
But just an uneasy calm through life storms.
Her voice is tinged with waves of emotions
I have yet to experience before.
They speak, and rejoice in,  the truth of what I mean to her,
And make me excited for what God has in store.
Her touch surprises me with jolts of electricity
That leave me shocked and sincerely thankful
It comes a bit stronger than expected
As she leaves me in awe and humbled.
So I sit in a foreign place,
Grinning internally and at peace.
I found myself writing finally:
I write because I’m happy.

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2 thoughts on “Foreign Places

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