Winter advances in age
Skeletal fingers in frozen decay
Touch me; All the rage
Of the summer sun melts away.

I stand in the silence of clarity.
I see you, in the beauty and the biting cold,
Breathing through the disparity
Of seasons turned, and youth turned old.

Wispy exhales of hope and yearning
Mourning moments that have not been
Snowdrifts of lost nostalgia churning,
Swirled and stilled by a disquiet wind.

I miss you
Twinkling in the warmth of joy and proximity.
I exist in these moments, undone and overdue,
Mingled from conception to infinity

And I am Yours
Whatever I have been, I am still.
Weathered storms, lonely roads and crowded wars,
But I feel you here in the hushed chill,

And I love you still.

Even if
The brightness of the sun
Slips beneath my horizon view,
If the tremulous touch of darkness
Scatters my assertions askew,
Though the earth never cease its spin,
You cannot be moved.

Even if
The blackest sorrow finds me
Doubts, like earthquakes, shake me,
Cracking along my fault lines,
If grief herself breaks me
I am never beyond the reach or repair
Of Your immovable hands.

Even so,
As I struggle with what’s in me,
The sin that strips the world bare,
Leaving brokenness, our destruction,
The inky depths of our despair-
Through the dark night of the soul
I strain to see, to believe You still care.

Even so,
You, the God who cannot be moved,
Are moved for me.
The God who weeps,
The God who bleeds,
The God who strives,
The God who sings
Is moved to sing over me.