The Last Song

When the last song is written

When there are no more words to speak

When the souls of men are emptied

Before the one we seek.

With nothing left to offer

No wisdom that we give

When our works are shown as vapors

In Him alone we live.
 

Ever After

Love for a lifetime, can it be true?
A yearning deep, but held by few.
        
Something only for tales and stage?
Embers warm even with age,

When life is lived and all is done,
Someone to hold us and see us young,
            
Still warmed by our touch and loves to the core
That which we were and that which we are.

A mysterious gift which cannot be sold,
The value oft missed by those who hold.

A wealth held by commoners, desired by kings.
In the scales of the heart, else are lesser things.

Who are we that God has bequeathed
Such glistening jewel beyond belief?

We watched in awe, the precious stone made,
As the Master Stone-cutter continued his trade.

We flinched with the pain of his masterful stroke
Our edges and flaws therewith he broke.

With pride he reveals in approaching e'en.
Two hearts as one in glimmering sheen.

       

The Path

Come with me into the cloudiness

I lead without knowing
          the path's end or way,
or whether I shall be with you
          to the close of day.

In my hand is not wisdom
          of what from here lies,
but courage for the journey
          and passion for your eyes.

We

                             Light

                                            Sparkling
                      
                             Eyes

                                           Silver

                             Strands

                                           Glistening

                             Lips

                                          Glowing

                             Cheeks

                                          Burning

                                    We
        

The Prize

The task before us.

Uncertain.

Extending

            Exhilarating, yet tiring.

The task before us. We pursue. The outcome unknown.

But it is the pursuit that molds us.

It is the pursuit that bonds us.

It is the pursuit that transforms us.

In the pursuit we discover and rediscover ourselves and each other.

And in the pursuit we learn it is not the task we are pursuing, but the One who set the task before us.

Pursuing together the One who desires our pursuit,

but who, by drawing us to pursue Him, is the One pursuing us.

The pursuers becoming the pursued.

The outcome of the pursuit then certain.

For we are the goal of His pursuit. We are His victory. We are His accomplishment.

We are His masterpiece.

We are His prize.

It is

What is it?
What is it that exists between us?
Try as we might, definitions of love are either too trite or too obscure to really say what it is.

It just is.
It is.
In the moment our eyes lock together amid the mundane. And we know.
It is.

In the twinkle. Yes, the twinkle.
It is.

Yes, in the passion. It is.
But also in the quiet moments when each of us is in our separate world.
Then a touch
   or a look.
And it is.

It is  - in the smile, the tilt of the head, and the familiar mannerisms.
Even in the strife. In the battles both between us and about us.
A bond, though drawn taut, holds.
And we know.
It is.

Who can believe in something so unexplainable,
     so undefinable
          so utterly impossible to detect or measure?

But we believe.
    Because we know.
         It is.