REST

Even now rest wearies me.

A peculiar thing it is to wake.
A new day springs.

I’ve no tools by which
I might perceive my own fate
As if sailing on deep waters,
I cannot see the plank
from which they will push me.

It is a peculiar thing to wake up;
The dawn neither waits nor attempts
To wake one or anyone,
fully ignorant to its own peculiarities.

There is sound in silence
The world turns and atoms
burst from the tension of gravity
And wind and sunlight.

Voices in violent stillness.
If my heart were rested
I'd reflect
On silent noise.

Soul, here or somewhere
On this side of eternal life
hearing,
feeling nothing
A cave siphoned from here
for a time.

Time exists not
where eternity is.
I know God
and I am called.

Heart rests,
weightless,
entered eternally,
where He says
"I Am."

Time confuses me,
as it passes by me,
and possibly with me.

Time passes, never rests,
And nor do I.
Rest wearies me, time exhausts me.

Each of her breaths is not the tick-tock clock,
but the promise of life;
and my heart knows that breath
because God gives good gifts
And that breath is now fueled
joyfully by her soul.

To wake up and love me,
mighty inhales, simple,
delights my soul
Not as a passing time
Nor the pause of it;

But because I am eternally grateful.
Soft, warm breath delights me
and I am rejuvenated
because God holds her too.

And so rest in time is not rest.
We’re mass.
Gravity and oxygen and atoms
and orbits demand movement,
demand time;
faithful movement,
and suited to it
expectations.

I must rest…we must rest.
I love eternity;
held.
Rest.

And I love that she is with me.