Poetry Sunday...He Is

He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away. ~Raymond Hull
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He Is

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He rides...
the clouds on hardened waves
He soars..
the waters wicked graves
He longs
for all that was lost
He clings
to the journey’s crossed
He needs
to be that man again.
He tries
but doesn’t know when.
He flees
the sinful mans distress.
He cries
for what he must confess
He feels
like the one he left behind
He seeks
all he could not find
He’s lost
in the murky mire
He heals
the soul now set afire.
He yearns
for peace with wings so fair
He finds
the Lord is waiting there.
He’s home
where he needs to be.
Dear God,
his soul is finally free!