Trust The One
She knows how to read Him. So He trusts her. She knows how to perceive Him. So He confides in her. When she’s close and when she’s not around, His soul will be found by her.
She knows how to read Him. So He trusts her. She knows how to perceive Him. So He confides in her. When she’s close and when she’s not around, His soul will be found by her.
Light me aflame and I burst into flight. Pomegranate merges with mango delight. Raspberry surges to towering heights of the clouds in a sky where the butterflies fly. How does pineapple collide with its passionfruit divine? Like a kaleidoscope of nectarine and lemon meringue pie.
You belong to me and I to you. Just like the moon betrothed to the night amidst the tune of endless starlight. Fire beckons fire. Sunrise beckons sunrise. Water beckons water. Sunset beckons sunset to align on the horizon of eternity's sky wherever the hemisphere brightens the light of God shining at every dimension.
His feet move powerfully marking footprints in the sand where the shore glides up to the imprint. Its water dances softly into the sea leaving the marking. The holy marking. The sacred marking. Jesus’ feet.
Halona swirls Kailua twirls when you’re sleeping by the shore Waimea curls Manoa whirls when I’m dreaming by the door of His Stairway to Heaven
Heaven’s veil drapes the crown adorned for His bride taking His name under the sunlight. Her crown dazzles from the jewels He made for her inscribing His name upon her.
The door swung open when You told it to open for me. There You were. Waiting for me to find You once again. Asking me to seek You when You beckoned my soul within. You let me come to You... move towards You… run to You… embracing me in Your arms of strength, anticipating my love for You.
An open canvas gleams in white awaiting colors of the rainbow. It beckons You to show it how to fly. How to speak. How to dream with imagery. How to shine most passionately. When you paint eternity into the hearts who crave the King.
Tears flowered out like rose petals when He felt the brushing silk on his lips. The aromatic scent of her incense. The soft and supple skin of her thumbprint etched in his hand.
Jesus is moving closer… and closer… The city is bustling faster… and faster… He isn’t stopping His stallion nor halting the pattern of His footprints imprinting in the sand. The movement of the Spirit hailing the dawning of the Lord’s day is swiftly propelling forward. When Jesus comes into town, He gets to work.