God paints the sunrise with the softest blues
And loverly, effervescent yellows
If I were a bird, it’d be my featherbed
And if I were a melody, it’d be my complement
But here I am
I have been born in the wispy morning clouds
To be my dreams in whatever way I choose
What a shame it is to not claim the afternoon
Or early evening, to block out the risen moon
But here I am
What hope can I give in dreams of dreams?
The dry, barren ground beneath pleads
Yet once more I disappoint, being a cloud of a cloud
Heavier yet, I’d be more than a sound of a sound
But here I am
I watch as the day lengthens, but I’m still here
In remembrance of the blues and yellows and myself
I take a step back and see God painting the scene
It is He who decides if and when I rain, not me
And here I am
One day I will not feign
Holding hopes in the unfallen rain
Someday, I will sing
On-listeners reverberating
Leave a Reply