A Moment Between the Pages
I can hear you between the pages of my heart
twisting leaves and flattening them beneath your hand
How thick, how heavy is this moment
this swing of the pendulum
As I take my pen, you take yours
and etch your words upon my heart
This black on white paper is merely the steam
allowed to escape
The soft signal that you are working beneath
You take iron and steel and by the sweat of your brow
(which some say was blood)
You turn them to sinew and breath, you heal
and all I can do is move my hand at your pace
to somehow record your labor on paper
I have learned that the press and clang of your struggle
can be heard in only one place, the silent
where we can hear your efforts as they truly are
fervent and violent
Too often the sounds of our own labor
drown out the evidence of your constant struggle
You battle, Lord, daily for our souls to be restored
Your sword and shield rest not, as we exchange
between the field and the cot
If we would only be still, and let our striving cease
We could finally understand that your labor gives us peace
Respond
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