Sunday Psalm

Sometimes music is the crowbar

which pries open my spirit.

Melodies warming the flowing

marrow in me.

 

Major and minor tones

plucking at tendons

under the surface

of leathered skin.

 

Each morning, creation

sings praise to all

the light by which I see.

There is joy in the squinting.

 

I feel the notes winged flight

on the scaled heights

of orchestrated air,

I knelt before The Musician.

 

“Will You play it again?

Tomorrow maybe?”

“My symphonies have no end,

you only need receive them.”

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4 thoughts on “Sunday Psalm

  1. The imagery of ‘force’ and ‘callousness juxtaposed to the ‘irresistible’ seeping in.

    I would share this in camp for our morning worship with cyclists except I’m being billeted for the weekend, enjoying a real bed and some restful sleep.

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