Waiting for Morning to Come

I still lie awake at night

Dreaming, doubting, reveling

Please, give my hand the words to write,

because I need this off my mind

Please, give my tongue the language to speak,

refuse to bend to this world of blight

Communication, bleed from my veins to the page

Unlock the capillaries, my inner securities

Given a prevue to all of this pain,

I’m only aching from their weight

I’ll still sing about Love

Even when it’s so hard to trust

Still point towards compassion

Though sometimes I’m scared of being touched

In truth, this is our escape as much as theirs

Dancing, sweating, bleeding

Passion, give my lungs the air to declare your name

Because I’ve seen gardens wither in apathy and shame

Seen the prevailing of frozen water over the splitting rock

The sweeping of snow o’er the plains

I’ll still sing about Love

Even when it’s so hard to trust

Still point towards compassion

Though sometimes I’m scared of being touched

Give me strength to raise your banner

Testify, “Not all is lost!”

Communion, from the crowd to the stage

Baptism in the rhythms

We all lose our way, we all long to be saved,

we all bleed the same!

We’re only aching from the weight

Give us strength

Give us passion

Baptism in the rhythms

So child, take up your courage, quiet your mind

They are only the strains of living, the vibrating of the strings

We have to learn to see the beauty in the struggle,

play on when our fingers bleed

I’ll take existence, in all its substance, count it all a blessing

This life will stretch and grow you,

we’re only aching from beating out the time

And no matter how we mistrust the light,

we’re all waiting for morning

(Honestly, it’s mostly late at night when clarity comes to me,

after all the chaos and light.

The dark prevails around me,

holding the lives of sleeping friends, the wheel in my fists,

the road and its bends.

Between that second and third cup of coffee,

during my eighth or so cigarette, warmth and

Life run through me despite the chill of mountain wind.

It’s then that my spirit takes comfort, awash with thankfulness.

That amidst all of this struggle, our hearts can find rest.

Even when the void creeps in around you, it is Light that will win.

So child, take up your courage, quiet your mind.

They are only the strains of living, the vibrating of the strings.

We have to learn to see the beauty in the struggle,

play on when our fingers bleed.

Let us take existence, in all of its substance,

and count it all a blessing.

This life will stretch and mold you;

we’re only aching from the growing pangs.

And this beautiful thing remains:

that no matter how we mistrust the light,

we’re all waiting for morning.)