The Waltz of Amelie
And so the potter reworks the clay
to a function more suited.
And from my weary morte malaise: I gaze
deep within my hushed and broken cynic-call
from Dove to Dove, of Crow in world of Greys.
...to smile; as sunlight rises then,
His presence holds with firm and warming grip
eye-dent of meine identity; to stay
regardless of the road or weathered trip.
He fills the spaces, and breathes the phrasing
tween each note,
allows for pregnant pauses
and their wisdom found in depth.
Gently trace the edges of my being
as Gold supports with saving Grace, my wheel
of bronze chassis and rose-etched eyes
to witness of this life, and of merit value
...why...
Because of brilliant thought in starless sky.
To His faithfulness and to His glory; All
to the power of his might; savior from fall,
-and of my meager faith and will to right:
Caused by He who is the finisher,
who calls forth by name to polish each heav'nly light
and gifts like brand new pair of stockings, life,
of second skin and time 'neath satin sheets
callous to gentile; so my mind be pampered,
My Soul ( Et cum spiritu tuo ) Shall Meet
~Mraw warM~
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