Will You Catch Me
If I should reach out, will you take my hand,
and hold me ‘til I reach that promised land?
Will you stay with me after tears have dried,
and close these lids the moment I have died?
Might you remain for just a moment more,
shall I but falter, tumbling to earth’s floor?
While curled up gently sobbing on this floor,
my friend, will you still stroke my weary hand,
meet my eyes’ gaze, convince me there is more
to living, loving - feet upon this land?
My soul embraced the darkness when it died
as wells once full had emptied, nearly dried.
Within these walls where fountains had run dry,
my love had left me trembling on the floor
with haunted mem’ries; left alone to die.
Yet as I tried to swathe these bleeding hands,
I hoped and prayed that I might safely land
where love abides, for I believed in more.
Such fortitude I trusted would bring more
to sate a thirst that left lips parched and dry;
for in my dreams, I soared across this land,
not stumbling, falling, ever on the floor.
To Him I cried, and reached with heart and hand,
“Please show me, teach me. Speak, before I die.”
Though heartache lingers, Love has never died,
for long, dark paths contain some light; what’s more,
I now believe He lends a sturdy hand
when hope has gone and springs have all but dried.
He finds us crawling, spent, upon the floor;
provides a map, helps navigate this land.
I must admit, inspired thoughts would land
upon this heart, but frightened, each had died.
My soul kept getting trampled to the floor…
each time I gave, each time they took some more.
No longer will tears drown before they’ve dried;
I reach out swiftly, firmly grasp His hand…
And I will land in strong arms ever more!
Despite death’s grasp, Love’s well will never dry,
And crawling floors oft guides us to His hand.
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