Is it a little life? 

hidden quietly away?

lost between the mountains?

 

Like a book that someone dropped? 

laughing and talking?

and then forgot to miss?

 

Do the pages feel old?

like dull sentences re-written?

on page after page after page?

 

The world is loud

and wild and flashing with triumphs.

Is it hard to be invisible? 

 

▪️▪️▪️

 

But doesn’t He see?

Doesn’t His hand touch the paper?

as He crafts another line?

 

Doesn’t He know?

Doesn’t He walk the quiet places?

Isn’t this His home?

 

The pages dropped for dreaming?

They are treasures,

Aren’t they?

 

Like footsteps of a King.

To wait upon, overcome with awe.

To cherish deep inside. 

 

Is it a little life? 

hidden quietly away?

tucked between the mountains?

 

It is not lost. 

It is a little thread of heaven,

woven into the world. 

 

Isn’t it?