The pen rises again as I lay still,
Worn through by the thoughts and whispers of life,
Taunting me to find my dragons to kill,
Laughing at my desire to escape strife.
Resting in the arms one who made me,
I ask if there could be a tender day,
Where His princess could wellprotected be,
And live the melody of joy and play.
But because He’s silent I take the hint,
And ask if there is more that i must do,
I wish not to avoid striking the flint,
I wished only to flame out in praise of you.
But He doesn’t answer and my heart slows,
And tires because outside the wind blows.