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Awaking
Dreams,
Dredging up the filth of yesteryear
Or marching forth past victories to drape
And dress my early hours before You, Lord.
Tears,
Formed from sorrows, joys, or conquests won,
All fall down at Your feet as daylight comes.
Are you the tissue—burial cloth that dries,
Lord?
Eyes now open, dreams chased out by truth
As You caress my face to bring forth calm
And tender buds of peace within my soul.
Yes,
My cheek on Your breast,
I rest.
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