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A poem (untitled)
You are rearranging the furniture in my soul.
Of course, I gave you the key to let Yourself in
whenever You wanted,
but I can’t get over coming home and
seeing everything shifted.
Some of my favorite things are gone,
some of the things I used to cling to for security.
I still go looking and grow angry to find them gone.
I miss the complacency, the mediocrity,
the stagnation, but I relish the abandon more.
Your Presence leaves a warmth in the room.
It fills me more fully than all the clutter
which used to linger within.
With a lot of the garbage gone, I can seek you out.
I can rest in the present, in the Presence,
in calm, in tranquility, undisturbed, except by
what you choose for me.
I wait for You to come.
I never thought waiting for the Moving Man could be so right.