A storm wave of depression hits me; heart drops 10 floors from my chest,
Yet these are not my own thoughts, they are shot at me from the rest
Of those who turn toward a beacon, hoping to learn how to glow,
But in the storm, they claw like carrion, innocent, because they do not know
That my cup is not bottomless, they drink life from my soul,
And while I give freely, for that is my role,
I am only a sieve, and a mirror reflecting sight;
They are drawn to me simply because they seek the light.
I feel myself drowning, the last drop runs dry,
Parched even in this storm, needing life water from the sky.
Crying out, dear God, I can’t do this alone,
Is it wrong to lay down and yearn to fly home?
While bitterness chokes me, I breathe out, I breathe in,
Accept; I find firm ground that I can stand on again
My mirror is black, my cup is dry,
I run to the soul of my soul, so I will not die.
The Lighthouse shines brightly, one hundred feet away,
Warmth floods me before I even see the light of day,
It’s calling and calling and calling my name
Let me fill your cup! Let me be your flame!
He’s there! My Creator, Perfection not made,
The secret of my smile, constant in every age.
My dear One, my friend, the Soul of my soul,
Awe adoring, Morning Glory, I am made whole.
Calmly catching the shards of my being,
Recreating with kisses, darkness is fleeing,
Transcending somewhere between heaven and earth,
I rest in the absolute peace, a new birth.
For Trust reveals realities blind but to the soul,
And the brightest flames burst forth from black humble coal.
This shard of mirror, this broken cup is but a beloved pawn,
While steadily, serenely, the Lighthouse shines ever on.
