Poetry

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He catches all of my tears
And lifts them up with the butterfly.
They are carried on the wind
And spilled out on his feet.
He cradles the messenger within his hand.
Oh yes,
He knows where it’s been.
Like a ballerina in the sky, the butterfly leads a procession for miles
Her wings brush,
Haste, haste
He comes.
Encircled by the myriad
He makes His way through the garden
He comes.
I smell perfume, could it be my tears?
I feel the butterflies,
their kisses on my cheek.
I hear the wind beneath their wings
And I lift up my face.

Close your eyes
Imagine.

I imagine.
It’s Him, once again, touching my face.
My heart beats faster.
It pounds His name
Love, love
Love, love
Love, love
Love, love
I feel his name.

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