Fly

Sometimes I feel like a fly.

Just batting my wings. Trying to

make some noise

In an great empty hall

but I am so small and unwanted. Does my sound matter

in a cold and loveless world?

God, I believe you gave me

The words that matter

that well up from waters

deeper than the lake from my hometown.

I wish I could always have the right words to say,

I wish I could be the summer fiddle tune

Playing in the strawberry fields. But I am more like

The somber bass. Trying to make sense of

A world that is shifting faster

than sinking sand.

When I feel like a thing

to be swatted away and forgotten,

I remember God, you made my story

Something beautiful.