The wind
It moves me
From the cycle of sparkling currents
To the hurricanes of tragic disaster
From the gentle breeze on a scorching day
To the violent gusts that threaten my way
The Spirit
He moves me
From the routine of blessed worship
To the groans accompanied by my tears
From the comfort of recalling His ancient Word
To the wounds caused by It's reading
From the rustling of leaves to the tornado blasts
From that still small Voice to His thunderous claps
Though slowed by solace and rushed by adrenaline
My heart continues to beat
My lungs continue to breathe
Though content to remain unseen
The wind
The Spirit
They move me
*Inspired by
Ezekiel 37:9,10
John 3:8
Rosario Beach