Of Words

Between waking and sleeping, there is a strange sound

Of gentle feet walking upon the firm ground
And He comes to brush the words on my lips
With the whispered caress of His finger tips

And He whispers in the back of my mind, “Write.”
So I slowly reach for the pen and grip tight,
And I'm annoyed, and tired, and I'd been crying,
And He just waits, and annoyed, is sighing.

I don't want to write. Not this time.
Yet not doing so... Well, seems like a crime.

And it's so hard to write what's so cliché,
But the words are seared to my soul, there to stay.

The words are hard to write and hard to erase,
Like writing on stone, etched permanently in place

Writing them down makes them solid, real,

Staring me in the face, all official, like a seal.

Those five simple words: “Trust Me. Do not fear.”

Are the hardest words for me to write, to hear.
They are the terms most difficult for me to accept
Because I can't see clearly the path's next step.

The words leave me irritated and unsatisfied.
That's the truth. Otherwise, I'd have lied.