I speak not
of the grandeur of stars
or how You planted each one in the sky
or how it seems You make every bitter tear
sparkle more brightly and shamelessly than those.
But here in my chair
I know that my mind is not meant to be
as scattered as the papers across my desk
or directionless as the dust
that dances in endless circles around my feet.
Safer than under childhood blankets,
free to be silent in Your presence
and to know how to dance away into the night
unhindered by atrophied muscles and old bones
or the stiff scars of years.
Should I shout praise
across the empty streets
in the excitement of the night?
and You would not stop me.
But I choose to be silent
of the blessing You fashioned for me,
savouring its sweetness
before it fades across the dream-crinkled sheets.
I don't have to,
but I choose to cry for You
in hope that lasts beyond the circumstance
even when everything is going well.