My Trust in You . . .

I was bitten by the inspiration bug at work . . . it is more a song than a poem. It sounds much cooler when accompanied by the music in my head . . . then again, maybe it's best you can't hear inside my head . . .

It didn't take much from you -
Now, with your words,
My faith flies the skies
like a broken-winged bird.

The wind is not gentle -
it cuts me like knives,
the roar of its passing -
covers my cries.

I find I am spiraling
out of control.
The ground is approaching -
my wind-ravaged soul.

A bird without flight
is a bird without life.
The storm tears my heart
as bleeding, I strive -

To reach calmer skies
where I see things are blue.
My faith may have fallen,
but, I don't need you.

I can find others
on whom to depend.
My soul will be healed,
in the hands of my friends.

The wind is not gentle -
it cuts me like knives,
the roar of its passing,
covers my cries.

The storm tears my heart -
and bleeding I strive,
the wind may be a gale,
but, I am alive.

The wind in my feathers,
the air holds me high,
I sweep through the heavens,
I am alive.