Saturday, August 9, 2008

Poem: 2 AM

2 AM
(Isaiah 21:11)

It is in the late of the night,
when the birds outside have fallen silent,
and the wind has quieted,
and the faraway traffic is no more,

when you lie alone in your bed and know
how alone you are, and why,
and you mourn, not the reality,
but the hope.

and You call out to the watchman,
not for mercy,
but for peace to sleep,
Peace not of sound, but soul,

and he reminds you
what you already know:
God's love has no timing,

only a promise that
someday, you will fly again,
on broken angel wings,
high into the night.


The picture was taken on the Blue Ridge Parkway, near the Purgatory Mountain outlook. You can click on if for a larger version.


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