My Miracle
Sometimes it seems as if the slowest
movement of time is faster than the speed of
sound. Unsurety settles in and the silent
voice within examines fate . . . wondering
how to outsmart life's choreography.
We danced in your kitchen; you lead as I
stepped on your foot and laughed. So take
life's hand I say . . . and lead it where it
wants to go. Listen for its rhythm . . .
shhhhhh, can you hear it? It will comfort
you.
You asked for a miracle the other night . . .
and I saw one -- stealing a glance at your
reflection as we walked near your window.
Conscience
Like a beating drum
It keeps rhythm.
Forcing you back in the lines,
When you stray away.
The pace is constant;
Listen for the truth.
When the drum stops beating,
You will know you are lost.
Shane Elliott Gilreath
bravenet.com