He Calls Me His Own.

Bridge in forest over a big lake.
Can you hear it?
The roaring of the skies?
The turbulence in the clouds?
The rage of the storms?

Shh, He is speaking.
Quiet your heart and listen.
He is calling out to you,
Come to me, my child, He says,
For He is a good, good, father too.

I have made a way for us to be,
One and the same. Can’t you see?
No. I can’t. There are clouds of doubt in my path,
Is this way even open? Will I need to use my staff?
Close your eyes and clear your bridge,
Only you can free yourself from that cage.
But don’t worry, I will give you all the tools,
Until you make those fears and doubts,
Your footstools. 

Now can you hear it?
The roaring of the skies?
The turbulence in the clouds?
The rage of the storms?

That is I, clearing the way.
He calls me His own, so I can not stay,
On this side of my mind,
When He has given me all. Oh, so kind.
With fearlessness, I cross, into the light,
Where Him and I, together, shine so bright.

Destroy what’s behind you,
For you won’t need it anymore.
You won’t be going back to that place,
That made your mind, heart and soul,
So sore.

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