Still

I see his thoughts, his falling aspirations coming close
to where no one knows.
They thrive and then they brush and
blow away;
they move like whispers against a face
of one tilted to another day,
and I see the dreams held like a captive chained to his lonely heart
that begs to fall on trembling knees and pray,
and break like tormented waters
along the line where they part
divided once again, even though I took his sin
and made him more than a spirit prone to drift, more than
a fading
falling autumn leaf, soaked in rain and bitter morning mist
that steals the life he could have lived.
I made him more than that, to prosper his hours around the sun-
teach him to race if he can run,
to harvest in abundance, the fruit of the world that will be sweetened
with Me
if he’ll choose to go and bring them into the light,
to help them see, that once he was blind but I gave him sight.
And I know this fear
of love he is afraid to give, love that stirs within the deepest parts
of his soul, the love he fears to live-
that part of him that kindles a flame of joy- joy like fire,
...spread.
And yet he locks it away and reluctantly
chooses to see past it, and not think upon the blessing instead;
but does he know it comes from Me?
That dream that has yet to fall, that living, breathing chance
that he is too blind to see,
a dream that is quick to pass, if there is nothing to grasp
the power it offers, when it clings to
a single soul
and how I want him to know, that there is more for him in store
than yet another set of failures
when the angry rains begin to pour, and more for him than merely
a life engulfed by a sinful, raging sea.
My will for him is greater than
the all encompassing hold of his returning sin
stronger than the cries of his lonely and desperate heart
more joyful than the emptiest thought
of where he once had to start, and
entirely perfect
is My plan for his every tomorrow, if he will surrender in full
and be still, to know that I am God.