Ready To Be Squeezed

When a wind comes through, 

I look up 

as if I will see 

from where it came from. 

Silly me!  

You can’t see the wind, 

only watch what it touches.  

Oh Poppa, 

when Your Spirit breezes through, 

I marvel at watching 

what it does to me, 

how it touches me.  

What tunes, 

what notes sound 

as this Sweet Wind blows about, 

to cause music 

to come forth from me 

like I was created to be.  

Playing me 

like I was of 

Your most prized instrument.  

My thoughts explore 

the whole experience 

with force to gather 

this harvest of emotions 

like a dry sponge 

absorbs every drop of moisture 

it can hold.  

Ready to be squeezed 

here and there 

so what I gathered 

can be enjoyed 

all about my travels.   

Waiting, watching, 

holding on as long as I can; 

often freezing in a stand-still 

so all remains within. 

Swinging back 

to its beginning 

so a rehearsal can pick up 

any that might have been missed 

the first time.  

Not one swish of this Wind 

has no meaning.  

As I stay in these hurricanes 

or slight touch 

of hearing the Wind, 

I hum my life to You 

as the melody 

of this memorable moment.  

For I listen 

to the high and low 

of such power 

and with surrendering of my will, 

I see my life 

as Your song.  

The sweet rest 

that calms my weary soul 

gives understanding 

the song is singing 

with victory of love about me. 

New appetites 

beyond my previous knowledge 

are now both developing 

and being satisfied.  

With the pitch Your Spirit 

created among Your beloved, 

I lift my own 

to blend in harmony 

the New Song that is awakened.