Sometimes
we seem to think
that answers are a given.
When actually,
we hear whispers of truth
formed out of nothing
but thin air.
The wind travels slow
though the leaves flutter violently.
Much like the Holy Spirit;
so solemn, quiet, true,
and always last.
Drowned out
by our own words, dreams, and sorrows.
We go to sleep,
dreaming
of an answer that lays right there,
atop your pillow.
Too young
to realize the answer has always been there.
Too adventurous
to trust word-formed wisdom.
Too much of an author
not to try and rewrite the ending.
Too much us and not enough Him.

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